


Why be a Villain? Suicide Squad-Westeros Edition

by Shadowmire



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, DCU (Comics), Game of Thrones (TV), Suicide Squad (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Castle Black, Dorne, F/M, Gotham City - Freeform, Mountains, Suicide Squad, The Night's Watch (ASoIaF), White Harbor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-05-26 17:33:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 73,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15005873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowmire/pseuds/Shadowmire
Summary: Thousands of years after the Long Night, the world is faced with a new threat, Meta-humans. The rise of super-powered heroes and villains has the Government of the United Kingdoms of Westeros concerned. Hardnosed bureaucrat and government agent Olenna Tyrell (Amanda Waller) forms Task Force X,  supervillains with no hope of parole are recruited to go on dangerous missions to save the realms of man, and if they don't make it back alive...That is why they are called the Suicide Squad





	1. The Halls of Power

**Author's Note:**

> I love GoT and I love DCU, I actually like the Suicide Movie and the comic books, so I combined the two.
> 
> This story is a take on DCU Suicide Squad, with the Characters from Game of Thrones. The concept is the same, but this is mostly a GoT story. So if you’re hoping for the Joker, Batman, or anyother DC character they are not here. Although some DCU characters have GoT counter parts. 
> 
> They are not exactly the same but here are some of the obvious counterparts.
> 
> Olenna Tyrell, (Amanda Waller)  
> Jon Snow-the Black Wolf, (Bruce Wayne-Batman)  
> Bran Stark-Raven...Oracle (Dick Grayson-Robin...Barbara Gordon...Oracle)  
> Sansa Stark-Lady Wolf (Barbara Gordon-Batgirl)  
> Sandor Clegane (Rick Flagg)  
> Pyat Pree- Felix Faust  
> Bronn-Deathstroke  
> Iggo- (Victor Zsasz)  
> Missandei- Wonder Woman  
> Greyworm- Steve Trevor  
> Jaime Lannister-Kingslayer "There are no men like me, only me"

Why be a Villain?  
Suicide Squad-Westeros Edition

Chapter One

The Halls of Power

The rain fell like a thousand tiny shards of glass, shattering on the roof of the dark Town Car as it crossed the long bridge spanning the Blackwater Rush. The dark coupe pulled onto a wide boulevard, rain soaked and deserted this time of night. Squat government buildings lined either side of the deserted street. Most of the windows were dark, only a few lights flickered on the upper floors, where government pages and junior bureaucrats worked tirelessly to earn their worth. 

Olenna Tyrell tried to ignore the pounding rain as she flipped through the files on her computer tablet. She had to be prepared for the meeting with Director Varys, the spymaster for the United Kingdoms of Westeros wasn’t an easy man to see. Surprised, when she received the summons to meet Varys in his offices in Kings Landings, Olenna had caught the first flight leaving White Harbor. 

When the town car came to a sudden stop in front of Tarley House, the offices of the state department, named after Westeros’ first Prime Minister. She quickly shut down her tablet and waited for the chauffer to open the door. 

The chauffer held a dark umbrella for her as Olenna stepped out into the cold night rain. Looking up at the nondescript ten-story office building in front of her, Olenna couldn’t help but think, _I thought it would be more grand._

Olenna Tyrell steeled her expression. It wouldn’t do to look intimidated by the power housed inside the unremarkable office block. Women had come a long way in over the last millennium, but prejudices and misconceptions regarding her gender still lingered in Westeros. 

Only a moment after she rang the after-hours bell, a gruff male voice replied, “ID.”

“Olenna Tyrell, director of Castle Black penitentiary,” She announced holding her government issued ID up to the camera.

Her credentials were only mildly inaccurate, although she did oversee operations at Castle Black, the maximum-security prison, which held most of the realm’s meta-human villains. The prison was only a front for the Nights Watch, a secret division of the government that researched and developed countermeasures against the rising meta-human threat. She knew the Nights Watch had been something else once, thousands of years ago, if she remembered her history correctly.

The loud buzz of the door unlocking reminded Olenna of her purpose. Her chauffer held the door open as she stepped inside. Conservative black pumps, clicked on the freshly waxed grey marble floor as she walked across the lobby to the security desk. 

Olenna always dressed conservatively because power was an illusion, it only resided where men believed it to reside, and she needed to project an aura of authority. If men underestimated the plump woman, they only did so once and at their own peril.

“Director Tyrell?” One of the largest men she had ever seen asked as he strolled forward, his back straight and head held high…military. 

His brown shaggy hair cut short framed damaged facial features. The right side of his face was lean and stern, although his eyes betrayed hidden warmth. The left side of this face was a nightmare of burned tissue, although it was apparent he had suffered through multiple reconstructive surgeries and skin grafts, his face and neck still bore hideous scars.

The large man’s crisp uniform identified him as a staff sergeant in the royal marines. Olenna immediately had to wonder. _Is he a meta?_

“I have an appointment with Director Varys,” she informed the large marine.

The marine sergeant only nodded and replied brusquely, “Follow me.”

The sergeant led her through the lobby, to the last elevator, which he needed a key to unlock. As Olenna rode the elevator up with the large marine, she silently watched the numbers rise until they reached the tenth floor. The marine remained stiff and silent. He was apparently not a great orator. The door opened to an elaborate office that took up entire floor. 

Director Varys stood at a large window his hands clasped behind his back as he overlooked Kings Landing. The bald and portly man wore a blue checked suit, a bright red vest and a silk tie. 

Defiantly not conservative, once again she faced with the double standards of the realm. Olenna had to fight the urge to wrinkle her nose, as the order of flowery cologne filled the chamber. 

“That will be all, Sergeant Clegane,” Varys said dismissing the marine and motioning Olenna to a large weirwood desk that dominated the room.

The chair complained with a sharp whine as Varys lowered himself down onto the overstuffed chair. Lacing his figures together, Varys studied the woman sitting across from him. He knew better than to underestimate this particular woman, on her rise to the top of the bureaucratic corps, she had never let her gender hold her back. Olenna Tyrell had left more than a few copses of shattered careers in her wake. 

“Director Tyrell…” Varys started, “Or, should I call you Maester Tyrell?”

“Director Tyrell is acceptable,” Olenna replied crisply.

Even though she held several Maesters degrees, in psychology, foreign affairs, and criminal justice, she had never wished to be perceived as a mere academic, who couldn’t understand the larger picture.

“Tell me Director Varys,” Olenna asked, “What do you know of the history of the Nights Watch?”

“Officially, it is an ancient military unit…,” he responded lacing his fingers together and smirking, “who guarded the realms of man, from grumpkins, snarks and all other order of mysterious horrors. It was…officially disbanded after the Long Night.”

“The stock answer,” Olenna replied trying not to roll her eyes, a little annoyed the director was playing with her, “which every child learns in nursery school. Are we children in nursery school?”

She paused letting the slight sink, and considering her next words. If she failed to outmaneuver the Spider, she would be stuck in his web of influence and lies. 

“The Nights Watch was never disbanded,” she continued, “Through the great crusades in Essos, three World Wars, the rise and fall of kings and the eventual growth of our Constitutional Monarchy.”

“And it has continued uninterrupted down through the centuries,” Varys said, dismissing her speech as a mere history lesson, “secretly protecting the realms of man from dangers to horrendous for the general public to believe or even understand.” 

The bald man tapped his pen against his desk several times. Trying to intimidate the unyielding woman, Tryell remained unruffled, waiting for him to continue.

“Why am I receiving this…fascinating, but pointless history lesson?” Varys asked in mock annoyance.

“Because…and the newest threat to the realms of man, is meta-humans,” Tyrell replied curtly.

“You realize that when you became the Director of Castle Black,” Varys purred effeminately, “you became the 1400th Lord Commander of the Nights Watch?”

“An archaic title-,” she started only to have her words cut off by the bald man.

“Non-the-less, it is the title you now hold,” Varys waved her to silence, “and in over 12,000 years the first woman to ever do so.”

“It is a meaningless honor,” Olenna replied, meeting his eyes, refusing to show the vile man any feminine weakness.

“…and one that can never be known outside these walls,” Varys said, “but discussing the mysterious history of the Nights Watch is not the real reason you are here.”

“I disagree,” Olenna replied, “The Nights Watch consists of the finest black-ops teams the world has ever known, honorable men and women who fight and die for the realm.”

Varys yawned and looked at his manicured fingernails, before turning his gaze back to the woman sitting opposite him. His feigned indifference didn’t appear to have affected her composure. 

“Once, during the Long Night,” Olenna continued, “it consisted of dangerous men, criminals and convicts banished to stand and guard the Wall.” 

Olenna opened her tablet and placed it on his desk, it chirped the first few notes of the ‘Rains of Castamere, as it booted alive. 

“It’s taken some work,” she said, “but I finally have them, the worst of the worst.”

“There are rumors, Olenna that some of them have…abilities.” Varys said leaning back and refusing to show interest in the contents of the tablet.

“Oh the rumors are true, I have seen….things.” Olenna replied holding back a slight shudder, “We’ve been lucky so far, to have contained the meta-human threat, next time we might not be so lucky.”

“You’re playing with fire, Olenna,” Varys stated, leaning forward.

“We’re fighting fire with fire,” she scoffed at his lack of imagination.

“Hmfft, you’re not talking about that Task Force X project of yours again, are you?” Varys replied.

“Yes, but his time you are going so listen,” she replied tersely.

Olenna Tyrell opened a file on her tablet, a handsome man with golden hair, light stubble and brilliant green eyes stared from the screen.

“Jaime Lannister, AKA, the Kingslayer? He was the most wanted man in the world.” 

“You caught him?” Varys asked, finally a little surprised. 

“Not me, let’s just say an anonymous tip was given to the right guy in White Harbor.”

While the rest of the world believed Jaime Lannister was dead, killed in the same explosion that ended the terrifying reign of Aerys Targaryen, the wildfire king, the insane chairman of Targaryen Industries. The defense company, that had manufactured advanced weapons and military technologies for the United Kingdoms and countries around the world.

Varys of course knew the truth, Jaime Lannister the son of Tywin Lannister, the rich Chairman of LannisCorp, had murdered his father’s biggest rival.

Fifteen years ago, Jaime Lannister had disappeared, replaced by his alter ego, the Kingslayer. His father had used his influence to kill the story, and hide his son from the authorities.

Varys studied the handsome face on tablet, “Jaime Lannister is a meta?”

Olenna Tyrell nodded, “We believe his abilities developed after he murdered Aerys. During the overload of the Targaryen security system, his body was saturated with dark matter energy.”

Olenna tapped on the tablet, the image slid over, reveling a face of a young woman, not traditionally beautiful. She had short pale blond hair combed back, her face covered in freckled and her blue eyes were startlingly beautiful. 

“Brienne Tarth, won gold in the Valryian games, before becoming the personal secretary and bodyguard for Renly Baratheon.”

"The actor?” Varys asked.

“Renly Baratheon was a rising superstar, playboy and man about town,” Olenna smirked, “tragically murdered a year ago, by his jealous personal secretary.

“Did she really do it?” Varys asked, he had heard there was some doubt.

Olenna replied unemotionally, “No, she is quite innocent.”

“Then why-?”

“It is not my place, to question the legal system of Westeros,” Tyrell interrupted him coldly, more interested in moving on, than the innocence of the young woman.

Varys didn’t recognize the next face that appeared on the screen next, a young girl, possibly still a teenager. Her brown hair fell limply to her shoulder, framing a long face and grey eyes.

“Arya Stark,” Tyrell replied to his unasked question, “Codenamed, Nobody…a rogue assassin, who left the Faceless Men, not on the best of terms.”

Varys shallowed, not many things intimidated the spymaster, but the Faceless Men were one of those things.

“These are dangerous criminals,” Varys snorted waving a dismissive and effeminate hand over the tablet, “If the public ever found out-,”

“We use…these supervillains to do the dirty work we don’t want the public to know we’re doing.” Olenna Tyrell replied to his concerns, “While we get what we want, all anyone see’s is a bunch of lunatics doing what they’d probably be doing anyway.”

The Spymaster appeared to consider the concept for a moment. Before leaning forward and pressing a button on his desk. 

Turning to Tyrell he stated, “They will need to be supervised in the field.”

“I assure you, Director, there are safeguards in place to -,” Tyrell stated to dispute, she didn’t care to have the Spider interfering with her project.

“Non-the-less,” Varys raised his hand, cutting off any argument, if he permitted this project, he wanted nothing to go wrong and bite him on the ass.

A moment later the gruff marine staff sergeant entered the large office, “Ser?” he asked crisply.

“Aw, Sergeant Clegane,” Varys hands ran across this keyboard, with unexpected speed, before he smiled up at the tall man, “I am reassigning you to Castle Black, you will report to Director Tyrell and help her coordinate this…Suicide Squad.”


	2. Back in Castle Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Varys has approved Task Force X, it is time to form a team.

Chapter Two  
Back in Castle Black

The Wall came in to view first, long before Castle Black emerged from the mist. The massive wall rose at least fifty feet into the night sky. The spotlights from the maximum-security prison occasionally crawled across the enormous wall’s slick icy surface. The pilot of the helicopter had made sure to fly over the huge structure dipping slightly so his passengers could gaze down at the imposing visage that was the Wall.

Olenna Tyrell never looked up from her tablet, as the helicopter flew over the Wall. Although she looked distracted, she was very much aware of her surroundings, and noticed the slight shiver from her companion, Staff Sergeant Sandor Clegane of the Royal Marines. His steeled reaction was so minor it would have gone unnoticed by anyone else. However, Olenna Tyrell never missed a signal, or a sign of weakness no matter how slight. 

She was at first annoyed Varys had insisted on assigning the large marine to the Nights Watch. Olenna assumed Clegane was just another one of Varys lackeys and she didn’t need a spy in her midst, reporting to the plump director every slipup or failure.

After researching the marine’s record, she had changed her mind. He had served in both Essos and Sothoryos. For his valor at Wyvern Bay, Sandor Clegane had received the Silver Dragon, the highest medal awarded bythe military. 

As a Raider with the Royal Marines Special Operations and he wasn’t a stranger to black operations. The sergeant was a good soldier and he followed orders like a good hound, without question. 

Sandor Clegane had an older brother, also in the Royal Marines. However, unlike his elder brother, Sandor Clegane had not studied at the Kingsguard Military Academy. He had repeatedly turned down commissions, and scholarships to attend the Military Academy, preferring to remain non-commissioned. 

The gruff man would be helpful keeping Task Force X on track, many of the new recruits suffered from anti-social behavior and there was always a danger they could go off script.

She was surprised to find out the hideous scar on his face was not the result of an injury on some far away battlefield. It was a childhood injury, when the man was only six years old. In her career as a government agent, Olenna had caused enough unsavory scandals and people to disappear. She recognized a cover-up when she saw one.

“It was even higher, once,” Olenna announced not looking up from her tablet.

“What?” Clegane asked gruffly, turning to stare down at the short woman sitting next to him in the helicopter, “what was higher?”

“The Wall,” Olenna replied motioned to the large structure that loomed over Castle Black, “It is estimated it once stood over 700 feet high.”

“What happened?” he asked with a snort, “did it melt?”

“Less than you would think,” Olenna responded, “Parts of the Wall collapsed during the Long Night, most of it is buried beneath over 10,000 years of sediment.”

“It’s hard to believe they had the technology to build such a structure, during the Ice Age,” the gruff marine said looking down at the massive wall.

The world had suffered through an 8000-year long ice age, during Westeros early-recorded history. According to some ancient texts, once the weather had been vastly different. The world was dryer and colder, and most of the planet’s water remained locked in vast ice sheets north of the Wall. Winters had lasted years, with brief intermitted warming periods. Then some 3000 years ago, after an era called the Long Night, the weather had stabilized. The giant glaciers that once covered much of the land north of the Wall had retreated and winters had shortened to their present day length of only three to five months. 

“Technology had nothing to do with it,” Olenna smirked and returned to her tablet.

The large marine paused, wondering for second before asking, “You don’t mean the conspiracy theories are true? It was built by Aliens!”

“Oh gods no! But there are forces in this world, more powerful than the most advanced technology or Aliens,” noticing at his confused expression, she replied, “All of this will be explained, along with the real history of the Wall, the Nights Watch and our current mission.”

The helicopter landed smoothly on the roof of the administration building. Olenna Tyrell was short enough to walk under the swiftly spinning blades, as she exited the Helicopter. She never took her eyes off her tablet as she walked to the men gathered on the edge of the helipad.

The tall staff sergeant had to stoop low, avoiding the blades as he followed his new boss. 

“Director Tyrell,” an old Maester shuffled forward, “welcome back to Castle Black.”

“Maester Qyburn,” Olenna nodded to the lead scientist at Castle Black, “I hope everything has gone according to plan, while I’ve been in the Capital.”

“Yes, Director Tyrell,” Qyburn purred, “the nano-bomb tests have worked perfectly, we can begin field testing immediately.”

“Well, I suggest you precede,” Olenna nodded crisply, “Varys has greenlighted Task Force X, and we go operational within the month.”

“At once, Madam Director,” Qyburn hummed silkily, turning to leave.

 _Gods the man truly is a weasel,_ Olenna thought as she watched the scientist scurry away, his Maester’s chain clinking softly. 

Ostentatious really, most people who held a Maester’s degree either didn’t wear the archaic chain or like Olenna wore only a small necklace of links.

Turning to the second man, also dressed in Maester lab coat and a small necklace of metal links. He also wore the insignia of a second Lieutenant in the Royal Marines. 

“Lieutenant Tarly, please see that Sergeant Clegane is briefed on our operations,” Olenna ordered the chubby Maester, “He will be taking over the…training and field operations of Task Force X.”

-oOo-

Olenna Tyrell sat behind her desk, catching up on reports and briefings. A row of monitors displayed security footage from around the prison. Convicts in orange overalls, walking in the yard or relaxing in their cells, many of the men and woman wore neck collars that dampened their meta-human abilities.

A crisp knock alerted her to a presence at her door.

“Enter,” she said glancing at the monitor to see Sergeant Clegane standing outside her door.

“Sergeant Clegane,” She said not bothering to look up at the man as he entered, “I assume Lieutenant Tarly has briefed you on our operation.”

“Indeed,” he said frowning, “you know these people…are criminals? Most are psychotic anti-social freaks…this makes no sense.”

Olenna sighed and placed her tablet down, crossing her arms and looking up at the large marine. 

“Let me hit up my old unit in the Raiders,” The Hound suggested, “I’ll build you a team, who can do anything you can dream up. You need real soldiers, not these…degenerate scum.”

“Sometimes, degenerate scum, are the only people who can get the job done,” Olenna Tyrell scoffed dismissing his concerns.

“What are you really up to?” Clegane narrowed his eyes, stepping forward to tower over the short woman.

She wasn’t intimidated, very few people intimidated her, “That’s a need to know,” Olenna Tyrell said coldly, “and all you need to know, is that you work for me.”

“That can change, with a phone call,” Clegane growled, “I have friends too, friends high up in the government.”

“Like your brother?” Olenna asked haughtily.

Clegane paused, a slight twitch under his eyes letting Olenna know she had hit a nerve.

“Colonel Gregor Clegane,” she continued tapping on her tablet and bringing up an image of a large man in the uniform of the Royal Marines. 

“Assigned to…the King?” Olenna gasped in false alarm, looking up at the large marine standing in front of her, “Your brother is quite the up and rising star in the inner circles of power.”

She slid the screen left to reveal several old newspaper articles, a child hideously burned in a tragic accident. In one image, the child lay in a hospital bed, his head wrapped in bandages.

“Just think of the scandal?” She said with a forced sigh, “How would your family fare? And your famous father, a minister in the House of Commons, a war hero no less, how would he handle the downfall of his prodigal son?”

“How could you know?” Clegane growled clutching his fists.

“Because, it is what I do, I know things,” she calmly replied, closing down the folders containing his brother’s sins. 

Clegane looked away and sneered, “they warned me about you…my dumb ass didn’t’ believe the stories.”

Olenna Tyrell picked up her tablet and replied haughtily, “Nobody does,” letting the large marine know the conversation was at and end.

-oOo-

Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer tugged on the thin electronic collar as he sat on a wooden bench in Castle Black’s exercise yard, high walls topped with barbed wire surround the enclosure. The dampening collar irritated his neck and prohibited him from using his meta-human powers. He didn’t try to take the devise off, because he knew it would explode if tampered with, without the proper code.

If it weren’t for the dampening devise, his right hand would be composed of phantom energy, instead of a useless stump. He lost his real right hand, when Targaryen Industries’ headquarters in Kings Landing, collapsed around him, after he killed the firm’s insane chairman Aerys Targaryen, and inadvertently triggered the alarm that caused Aerys’ vile experiments to explode. 

Jaime survived the explosion, just barely. The authorities found him and the body of his victims in the wreckage two days later. Jaime was dehydrated and almost dead, his right hand, crushed beyond repair, they had to amputate. 

His phantom hand had appeared a day later, the shimmering appendage glowed blue with energy and it could pack a punch. 

His father’s Tywin Lannister had ‘spun’ the events, making sure Jaime’s involvement in Aerys Targaryen’s death was covered up. The crime, blamed on a mysterious supervillain, the news media dubbed the Kingslayer.

It was infuriating that no one, not the authorities, his father, or his sister had asked why he had killed the mad industrialist. 

His brother, Tyrion had finally asked, but by that time Jaime was so angry, he had only sneered at his little brother, “I did it, does it matter why?”

In frustration, he had left his life of luxury, taking up the identity of the Kingslayer, if that is what his family and the rest of the world believed him to be, who was he to argue? 

As he looked around the yard, he noticed how many of the prisoners wore the power dampening devises. However, the convicts who didn’t wear the devices were often the most dangerous. They had managed to earn a place in the maximum-security prison without the aid of super-powers. 

A gang of mostly non-meta criminals, called the Bloody Mummers, loitered on the far side of the yard, attempting to intimidate even the most hardened prisoners with leers and rude comments. 

Their leader, Vargo Hoat, a meta-human called the Goat was a long-limbed beast of a man, with dark hair and an extensive goatee. Before the authorities had apprehended the outlaws, they had terrorized the Riverlands. 

The Goat looked over at Jaime and smiled a toothy sinister grin. The Kingslayer cursed, if he had his Phantom hand, the crude man wouldn’t dare. Jaime could still fight of course, but without his right hand, he was at a disadvantage. 

Having noticed Jaime, the Bloody Mummers decided to make an example of the Kingslayer and began too roughly push men aside, as they prowled across the yard toward him.

The Bloody Mummers suddenly halted, and headed back the way they had come. 

“What do you say boys?” A voice behind Jaime laughed sarcastically, “time for a lion hunt?”

Surprised, Jaime turned, a large group of men stood behind him. _Just great,_ he thought with a sigh, _the Brotherhood without Banners._

The Brotherhood was a very different creature from the Bloody Mummers. The bandits’ only crime was defending the poor of the Riverlands, the very people the Bloody Mummers targeted. 

However, Jaime wasn’t safe, the Brotherhood didn’t’ like him either. They blamed the Lannisters for the misfortune and despair that had destroyed the economy of the Riverlands.

During Westeros’ industrial revolution of a century ago, the waterways of the Riverlands made the region ideal for manufacturing. Until, thirty years ago, when the factories began to close the economy of the region collapsed. 

Jaime’s father, like many other industrialists, had relocated all of his manufacturing concerns to Dragon’s Bay, where labor was cheater and corporate taxes nonexistent. 

“What do we have here, a lost little lion cub?” A tall man who went by the alias of Lemoncloak snickered, in reference to LannisCorps’ lion logo.

Jaime tried not to roll his eyes at the bearded man. Lemoncloak had to be the stupidest name for a supervillain he had ever heard. The tall man wasn’t even a supervillain, not really. Only a few of the Brotherhood wore dampening devises. 

Thoros of Mry was one. The old drunk was apparently some kind of mystic and could control fire. The ginger haired man stood off to the side, snickering at Jaime’s discomfort.

Beric Dondarrion, the leader of the Brotherhood wore an eye patch and a dampening devise. Although, the only meta-human ability the man seemed to process, was he couldn’t die. Jaime wondered why the prison authorities even bothered to block that particular ability.

“Lannister,” Dondarrion voice rustled in a deep rumble, stating the obvious, “you are not very popular, are you?”

“Popularity contests,” Jaime scoffed concededly, “are for ugly people, and unlike some…I am not ugly.”

A meta with fading green hair, who went by the name of Greenbeard laughed, “You’re funny Lannister, as funny as your dear old daddy, when he closed all his factories, abandoning the Riverlands…”

 _How did the Brotherhood come up with these names, and why?_ Jaime had to wonder. It was hard to hold his tongue, he so wanted to say something sarcastic. 

He knew he shouldn’t antagonize the Brotherhood. Although the band of outlaws was not as violent as the Bloody Mummers, there were a lot of them. The Brotherhood without Banners probably wouldn’t kill him, but they weren’t opposed to dealing out a significant amount of damage either. 

“Now that is an uncommonly large person,” Thoros of Mry laughed interrupting Jaime’s thoughts. 

Jaime followed Thoros’ gaze to a large man wearing the uniform of the Royal Marines. The man, followed by several guards in the black uniforms of the Nights Watch, strolled through the yard, holding a computer tablet and studying the faces of the convicts. 

The marine stopped in front of the Bloody Mummers, and gruffly asked one of the prisoners, “Name?”

“Go fuck yourself, cunt,” the thick hairy man snarled.

The guards stepped forward wielding cattle prods. However, the large marine raised his hand to stop them, casually handing his tablet to one the guards. 

Turning to the Bloody Mummer, the marine grabbed the convict’s neck, with one hand and punching him in his wide stomach with the other, before dropping the prisoner to the ground. 

The Bloody Mummer clutched his gut, blood dripping from his nose. 

The marine leaned over and growled into the man’s ugly face, “Name?”

“Rorge,” the Bloody Mummer coughed up even more blood.

“He’s the one,” The marine nodded at the guards, who stepped forward.

Rorge wasn’t having any of that, pulling out a homemade shiv, he stabbed the nearest guard in the arm. The convict was quickly outnumbered, and the guards had cattle prods. They subdued Rorge and dragged his unconscious body away. 

The large marine turned to look where Jaime was standing next to the Brotherhood without Banners. As the marine approached, Jaime noticed one side of his face bore a myriad of scars. The large man stopped in front of one of the Brothers.

“Name?” the marine asked gruffly.

“Anguy,” a young brother, with auburn hair and a light speckling of freckles across his nose and cheeks, replied with a smirk.

“AkA…the Archer?” The marine said, looking down at his tablet.

“And now that you know me, who might you be? The Burned Hound?” The Archer laughed, turning to look back at his companions for support.

Jaime had to chuckle, as the members of the Brotherhood began to howl and bark, “whooof! whoooff! whooof!”

The large marine ignored their taunts, “He’s the one.”

As the dark clad guards stepped forward, Anguy raised his hands, winking at the large marine, and allowing the guards to lead him away.

Next, the large marine’s eyes fell on Jaime, “Name?”

“The Kingslayer,” Jaime scoffed.

“Are we going to have a problem, Kingslayer?” 

“Nope,” Jaime replied shaking his head as he let the guards escort him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love.


	3. Revulsion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne meet for the first time and find out the secret of task force X and the Nights Watch.

Chapter Three  
Revulsion

The brilliant light, so intense it seared Jaime’s pupils even though his closed eyelids, woke him from a foggy sleep. The last thing he remembered was a grandfatherly old Maester, asking him questions about his phantom hand and poking at his stump. Then an intense pain as a second Maester injected a large needle into his neck.

He opened his eyes to glaring florescent overhead bulbs. Jaime moaned and covered his eyes with his forearm. When his eyes adjusted to the bright light, he sat up and looked around the room.

The chamber was brilliant white, the floor, the walls, even the ceiling. Five white plastic chairs, lined up in a neat row stood in the center of the room.

Four other prisoners, all wearing white overalls and still unconscious, lay on the hard silvery floor. Jaime looked down he was also wearing white overalls. At least it wasn’t orange, he was so sick of orange.

There were five prisoners, and five chairs, apparently someone wanted them to sit. Jaime rose to his feet and instead leaned against one of the walls, studying his fellow prisoners as they moaned and stirred awake.

Anguy, the Archer, lay near the chairs, along with Rorge, the Bloody Mummer, they both stirred and sat up.

“Hey,” Anguy laughed looking around, “how does a rebel get a snack around here?”

Two young woman lay in the corner, shifted, rubbing their eyes and looking around. The younger woman, looked no older than seventeen years old, she had a long face, with brown hair tied up in two loose buns. Her grey eyes searched the room suspiciously.

The second woman looked only a few years older, and she was quite tall with an athletic body. Jaime would have thought she was a meta-human, being so tall and muscular. However, she wasn’t wearing a collar, which meant she was human, her obvious strength earned from dedication and hard work.

The tall woman’s pale blond hair cut short and slicked back, shined in the bright overhead light. Freckles covered her face, flowed down her neck and beneath the white overalls.

When she met Jaime’s eyes, his heart leapt in surprise. Brilliant blue, her eyes reminded Jaime of the color of sapphires.

“What is this place?” the blond woman murmured looking around in confusion.

Her voice was smooth and intelligent, sophisticated even. She wasn’t Fleabottom filth or a Riverrun rat, her voice identified her as highborn. All highborn girls sounded the same, no matter which part of the realm they came from.

“Who cares,” Rorge roared wickedly and grabbed the younger women by the ankle, an evil glint in this eyes.

Before anyone could react, the woman leapt into the air, spun around, and kicked the Bloody Mummer in the face, knocking him to the floor. She jumped down on him, digging her knee into his chest, hovering over Rorge her arm raised, ready to strike a killing blow.

“Enough!” a firm and demanding voice filled the room.

All five convicts turned, a short, plump woman dressed in a crisp navy blue suit stood in the doorway. She didn’t have a weapon, only an electronic tablet held in her right hand.

Rorge stood up and scowled at the plump woman. However, something in her demeanor warned him against any further lewd impulses.

Jaime again leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms, feigning indifference.

“I am Olenna Tyrell, Director of Castle Black” the woman said sternly, “and I am here to indoctrinate you into the Nights Watch.”

“There must be some mistake, I didn’t sign -,” the tall woman said, before she was interrupted.

“You are a convicted criminal,” Olenna Tyrell turned cold eyes onto the blond woman, “and the Nights Watch can conscript prisoners into its ranks.”

“Sense when?” Anguy scoffed.

“Sense before the Long Night,” Olenna replied shrewdly, before continuing, “The Nights Watch has always held the right to conscript convicted criminals, for the defense of the Realm. Although… We have not enforced that particular policy for over two millennia.”

“Why start again now?” Jaime grunted.

“We are forming an elite strike team,” Olenna Tyrell replied, “Task Force X, consisting of convicted criminals, with no hope for parole, for black-ops missions-.”

“I assume these missions,” Jaime said haughtily, “are too dangerous to send in the good guys.”

“They are indeed, most of you will die,” Tyrell said coldly, “However, if you complete your mission, ten years will be shaved off your sentence.”

“…and if we choose not to follow your orders?” Jaime asked.

“There is a powerful nano-explosive implanted in your neck.” The plump woman replied, “Try to escape, disobey an order, Seven Hells just annoy me in the wrong way, and I’ll blow your fucking head off!”

“I don’t believe you,” Rorge sneered, “you government bureaucrats are all the same, you can threaten, but you have to obey the law.”

“Indeed,” Director Tyrell scoffed, “as a government bureaucrat I am obliged to obey the laws of the United Kingdoms.”

“In that case,” The Bloody Mummer laughed, grinning menacingly, as he rushed toward the woman, "Your powerless to stop me."

Olenna Tyrell didn’t even flinch, sliding her fingers quickly across her tablet. Rorge only made it halfway to his intended prey, before his skull rapidly expanded, blood and bits of gore splattered onto the wall. The Bloody Mummer fell forward, his neck still smoking from the explosion that tore his head from his body.

Olenna Tyrell calmly wiped blood from her tablet.

“However, as Lord Commander of the Nights Watch,” She glared at each of the remaining prisoners, “I am under no such obligation.”

“So what happens now?” Jaime wondered.

“Sergeant Clegane, whom you have already met,” Tyrell replied aloofly, “is in charge your first field operation, he will be here shortly to brief you on your mission.”

With that, Olenna Tyrell turned and walked to the door, glancing back only once, she said smugly, “Remember, I’m always watching, and I see everything.”

After the Lord Commander left, they stood in stunned silence for a few minutes, eyeing each other and the headless corpse of the Bloody Mummer.

The younger woman suddenly started to laugh, doubling over and slapping her knee, before standing and wiping a joyful tear from her eye.

They waited in the white room, with the dead body of Rorge, that began to stink, Anguy and the dark haired young woman, pulled the headless corpse into the corner.

“Well, good riddance to that one,” Anguy said pointing at the dead Bloody Mummer.

The young woman nodded, smearing blood and gore from her hands onto her white overalls, leaving long dirty red and black streaks.

In the meantime, the tall blond woman slid down against the wall, drawing her knees up to her chest. The sapphires of her eyes glistened, as if she were trying to hold back tears. She looked horrified and very much out of place.

He had no idea why, she wasn’t beautiful or even remotely interesting. Actually, the woman seemed rather insipid. However, Jaime felt drawn to the tall blond woman. Sitting down next to her, he tapped her knee until she turned her amazing blue eyes in his direction.

Jaime’s breath caught in his throat. Sitting this close, her eyes were even more amazing. Deep Sapphires, tingled with specks of gold, penetrated into his soul and shattered the walls he had built around his heart.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said when his voice finally returned, “What’s your name…I’m -.”

“I know who you are, Kingslayer,” she hissed looking away, robbing him of the brilliant sapphires of her eyes.

“Then you have me at a disadvantage, and If we are going to be in this…Suicide Squad, together,” Jaime replied flippantly, “As your teammate, I have a right to know your name.”

Refusing to look at him, she answered briskly, “Brienne Tarth.”

“Brienne Tarth? Jaime asked with a teasing snort, “What kind of codename is that?”

“It’s not a codename,” she said tersely, “because I’m not a…not a…,” she trailed off.

“A what?” Jaime growled anger rising in his voice, “a criminal, a supervillain, a man without honor?”

Jaime stood up and looked down at Brienne Tarth in contempt, “I hate to tell you this wench, but did you notice where we are? You are in Castle Black penitentiary. We are the bad guys, and you are one of us.”

“I am nothing like you,” she said narrowing her eyes.

“On that we can agree, we are nothing alike” Jaime scowled, “has anyone ever told you, you are as boring as you are ugly?”

The Kingslayer stalked away before she could reply, leaning against the far wall and glowering at the ugly wench across the room.

Jaime glanced over at the other two prisoners. The Archer and the young woman were getting along at least. They appeared to be discussing archery. Jaime snorted. Archery was a coward’s weapon. He preferred to fight up close, and see the defeat in his opponent’s eyes, when they knew, they were about to die.

The young girl’s name was Arya, and she was an assassin, a Faceless Man, who went by the alias of No One.

He wondered how the authorities had managed to capture her. Jaime had run into the Faceless Men before, they were hard to track, hard to capture and even harder to kill.

Thinking back to his own capture, he realized he had been stupid. Cersei had sent him a message, begging him to meet her in White Harbor. He knew it wasn’t safe, the north was the domain of the Black Wolf, and that particular superhero had it in for him. However, Jaime could never say no to his twin.

There were secrets in even the best families, and his relationship with Cersei was one of those secrets. Their forbidden love, if discovered, was a scandal that would have rocked the kingdoms and destroyed his father’s empire.

Their affair had begun when they were only seventeen, and continued after Jaime Lannister’s feigned death. Continuing after Cersei married Robert Baratheon, the up and rising politician who would someday become the Prime Minister, and whose government, had thrown the realm into the present-day state of economic chaos.

His family knew the truth of his identity, and every time Cersei called Jaime came, he always came. Every time Cersei felt the need for his body or she needed a rival eliminated, she would send a message and they would meet at some secluded location.

Four years ago, in White Harbor, the Black Wolf’s young sidekick discovered their secret. Jaime had to wonder, _Why did superheroes always have kids as sidekicks anyway? You wouldn’t catch a supervillain with a kid as a minion._

 _What was the sidekick’s name again?_ Jaime wondered, _Some type of bird…the Raven. Yes, that was it. The Raven,_ the boy the Kingslayer killed.

The Raven, the Boy Wonder, More like the Boy Blunder, the young hero had discovered Cersei and Jaime together, and the Kingslayer killed him, pushing him from a window.

Jaime still remembered Cersei’s screams, _“He saw us!”_

Just think of the scandal, the wife of the star of Parliament and the infamous villain, the Kingslayer, who also happened to be her twin. Even Tywin Lannister couldn’t spin that scandal.

The Wolf had it in for the Kingslayer ever sense. When Jaime arrived in White Harbor, Cersei wasn’t there, but the Black Wolf was, it was a trap. The dour superhero had beaten him to a pulp, before turning him over to the authorities.

Before he was unmasked and his identity discovered, the Nights Watch appeared and took him into custody. They locked him into the hole that was Castle Black penitentiary and promptly lost the key.

-oOo-

An hour after Olenna Tyrell left, the large marine finally arrived. The man didn’t carry a weapon either, at least not one Jaime could see. Like his boss, the marine carried a computer tablet.

Anguy startled everybody when he started barking, “whooff, whooff, whooff, the Hah-ooooound!”

“I will assume there will be no more problems,” the tall sergeant said gruffly, ignoring the young archer.

After everyone nodded, except Anguy who chuckled roguishly, the Hound slid his large hand across the tablet. One of the brilliant white walls flashed and lit up in a computerized display.

“Good, then let us begin the mission briefing.” The Hound voiced rumbled, “I am Staff Sergeant Sandor Clegane, and from this day forward…I am the Mother, the Father, the Maiden, the Smith and the Crone. But mostly I am the Stranger.”

His Cold stare pierced each prisoner. As much as they tried to discount Clegane, he had a presence they couldn’t ignore.

“If one of you, bloody disobeys one of my orders, I won’t need a nano-bomb, I will beat you to a bloody pulp.” The gruff marine growled.

Jaime shallowed he had seen the large man intimidate the Bloody Mummers in the yard. The Hound wasn’t a man to trifle with.

The image on the wall flickered and changed to show a medieval castle surrounded by snow and ice. The Northern Lights glimmered over the fortress. Like a ribbon of blue ethereal light fading into a brilliant red, cascading across the sky.

“Where is that?” Arya asked in amazement, “It looks like ancient Winterfell.”

“It is indeed a recreation of that ancient fortress,” the Hound replied, “Although, built on the highlands of the Frostfangs, far to the north.”

“So, our mission is…?” Jaime snickered, “punish the owner for bad taste?”

“This isn’t a joke, Kingslayer.” The Hound growled, “This castle is the base of the Night King,”

“He is just an ancient myth?” Arya replied with a smirk, “not a real person.”

“Of course he’s not real,” the Hound scoffed, “The Night King is a myth.”

The sergeant brought up a picture of a man, the image on the screen stared out with ethereal blue eyes.

“This is just another cunt of a supervillain with delusions of grandeur,” the marine grunted.

Jaime walked up to the screen. He didn’t recognize the Night King’s white taut skin, close-set blue eyes, or long silver hair. Although, there was something about the man, that seemed familiar.

“Kingslayer, down in front!” Anguy snickered waving his arms in the air.

Jaime turned and scowled at the young archer, before returning to lean against the wall in mock boredom.

“So what’s this Night King up too?” Anguy asked curiously.

“We don’t know,” The Hound explained, “we have lost two black-ops teams already, trying to figure that out.”

The screen flickered and changed to a map of the Frostfangs, a mountain range north of the wall. Zooming in, it stopped at a circle of stones, on a grassy precipice, high up in the mountains.

“We will be airlifted to the Fist of the First Men, make our way through Thenn Pass, infiltrate the Night King’s base, see what he is up too and report back.”

“We…?” Anguy asked, “You’re coming with?”

“I’m coming with you,” Clegane replied briskly, “this is a smash and grab. We learn his plans and meet back at the Fist of the First Men for extraction.”

-oOo-

After the briefing, the Hound escorted them to another room, and pointed to several large trunks, their names stenciled across the top.

“Your weapons and uniforms are in these trunks,” the marine said curtly, “Before you retrieve your weapons…remember you are always being watched.”

The Hound smiled slyly, “any funny business and…Kaboom!” The large man spread his fingers wide and made a sound of an explosion.

When no one moved, he bellowed, “We don’t have much time, so I would suggest you not waste it.”

The Hound walked over to Jaime and punched a code into his collar. The collar loosened with a slight click as the dreaded dampening devise unlocked.

When The Kingslayer removed the devise, he closed his eyes and suddenly his phantom hand shimmered into existence. Sapphire blue and glowing with energy, using that power, Jaime smashed the dreaded collar.

In the meantime, the three non-meta’s opened their trunks. Anguy pulled out a compound bow and black Kevlar armor with buckles on the side and neck.

“Hey, this isn’t my costume,” Anguy said angrily holding up the black armor.

“I believe it is a modern redesign of the ancient Nights Watch uniform,” the Hound replied with a smirk, “we will all be taking the black, some of your…costumes were a little bright.”

Arya smiled sinisterly as she pulled out a number of knives, and a similar solid black, lose fitting guise. Lastly, she pulled out a leather satchel containing several flesh colored masks of an undetermined material.

“They better all be here,” she growls, taking a silent inventory of her faces.

Brienne wondered what would be in her trunk. She was an expert in several weapons, but she had never used one outside of the training yard or in competition. Opening the trunk, she found a Nights Watch uniform made of stretchy fabric, a light thermal jacket and high combat boots.

There were several weapon to choose from, including a long sword, valyrian steel bastons, and several knives.

Picking up the sword, Brienne ran her finger along the blade and swung it in a wide arch testing the balance. A slight smile playing on her lips, she had won gold in the melee event in the Valyrian Games four years ago, the only woman ever to do so, a sword might be her best choice.

Feeling eyes on her back, Brienne turned and noticed the Kingslayer watching her intently.

She couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he was, dressed in the black uniform of the Nights Watch. His golden hair loosely fanned the side of his handsome face. Unintentionally Brienne gasped as a dull ache in her gut rose to explode under her ribs. She blushed and looked away, cursing the betrayal of her body.

“Would you care to spar, wench?” the Kingslayer asked smugly, drawing her eyes back to him.

The Kingslayer’s glimmering right hand began to stretch unnaturally, growing until he held a long sword composed of phantom energy, shimmered in his phantom right hand.

Rolling her eyes, Brienne turned away from the creep. She didn’t know what his game was, but she wasn’t about to become a victim of one of the supervillain’s cruel intrigues.

Putting the long sword back, she picked up the batons and knives. The sword might be a little much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love


	4. The Wolf of Gotham

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Black Wolf, dresses like a wolf and fights evil and strikes fear into the hearts of criminals who dare stalk the nights of his city.

Chapter Four  
The Wolf of Gotham

The streets of White Harbor were dark and cold, a desolate wasteland. A forgotten city, an oppressive air of failed dreams filled the night. 

The Black Wolf watched the men from the roof of an abandoned warehouse, as they loaded crates, labeled Targaryen Industries in red and black letters, onto a truck. Something was amiss, why would crates of industrial supplies be loaded in the middle of the night? _What was Baelish trying to hide?_

The Wolf wouldn’t put anything past the sinister CEO of Targaryen Industries. Petyr Baelish had taken over the company after the death of its founder, Aerys Targaryen, fifteen years ago. 

The man was scum. The Wolf had dealt with Baelish, on multiple occasions, both as the Black Wolf, and as Jon Stark, his secret identity. Jon owned stock in Targaryen Industrial, inherited from his father Rheagar Targaryen. Jon’s forty percent share, was sadly not enough to wrestle control away from Baelish and put an end to whatever sinister plot the CEO had concocted. 

The Black Wolf tapped on his ear, “Oracle?” 

No reply.

“Oracle?” he tried again.

Still nothing, Jon glanced over at his cousin Sansa, AKA…Lady Wolf, her long red hair falling from under her wolf hood. Her costume matched his, black and grey, with the claws marks of a giant Direwolf on the chest. She only shrugged and went back to watching the men loading the mysterious crates.

After his former sidekick, the Raven’s fall from the tenth floor of the LannisCorps building, four years ago, Jon swore never again to put another family member in danger. 

Yet here they were, in matching wolf costumes, stalking the nights of White harbor. Two years ago, Sansa had discovered his secret and somehow managed to insert her way into his secretive nighttime activities. 

“Bran!” The Wolf finally growled into the mic.

“Here! Here! Sorry, Jon…err…Black Wolf,” the young voice replied, “Whatcha need?”

“I need…you to pay attention!” Jon’s dour voice crackled through the speakers of Bran’s computer, “There is a Targaryen shipment, just arrived on a ship called…the Silence. Track it, see where it originated.”

Miles away from the docks of White Harbor, in a secret location, under the ruins of Winterfell, Brandon Stark typed into his computer. Hacking into Targaryen Industries wasn’t difficult, not with Bran’s skills. 

Although, Bran’s mind was still hazy from the vision, it had come on him without warning. One minute he was providing backup to Sansa and Jon, hacking into the security camera’s on White Harbor docks, looking out for potential ambushes. 

Then, his eyes had snapped open, turning a brilliant white, his head lurching backwards. Suddenly he was soaring above the landscape, coming to a stop at Castle Black Penitentiary. 

In a small white room, a short plump woman was talking to several prisoners in white overalls. Bran gasped as he recognized one of the convicts. It was the Kingslayer. 

He hadn’t seen the Kingslayer in over four years, when the supervillain had attempted to kidnap Cersei Lannister-Baratheon, the wife of a prominent politician. Jon, the Black Wolf had warned him not to confront the supervillain alone, but Bran hadn’t listened. He was the Raven, a superhero, and nothing or nobody could hurt him.

His mind was still fuzzy on the details. Bran remembered the woman screaming, and then the Kingslayer pushing him from the window. The supervillain must have panicked after that, as he let the woman escape. Ms. Lannister-Baratheon had fled back to Kings Landing, into the arms of her husband. 

Traumatized, she refused to talk with the authorities or interview with the press. Which was unusual, Cersei Lannister was famous for being famous. Everything from her grand wedding, the birth of her three children, to her husband’s latest bowel movement, ended up publicized on social media.

After the failed kidnapping, the Kingslayer had disappeared, until a few weeks ago, when Jon received a mysterious tip alerting him to the Kingslayer’s whereabouts. In a rage, Jon had beaten the man severely, before turning him over to the White Harbor police. 

The military had immediately swooped down, and taken the supervillain into custody. Spiriting the supervillain away to some secret location, even Bran couldn’t hack his way into. 

His visions, which had increased since his fall, had recently gotten worse. He had always had premonitions, all the Starks did. That and his unflinching honor is what made Bran’s father, Nedd Stark such an efficient police commissioner. It’s what also made Bran, his sister Sansa and his cousin Jon such a good vigilantes. However, this was different, more powerful, he hadn’t told Jon yet, unsure how he would explain this new ability to his cousin. 

“Oracle?” the computer speakers cracked again, Jon’s grim voice bringing Bran back to reality. 

It didn’t take long for Bran to hack into Targaryen Industries’ computer system. A long list of schedules and inventories scrolled across the screen.

“I have it,” Bran replied, “The Silence…registered out of Pike.”

“What was she carrying?” Jon asked. “What was the cargo?”

“It was hauling hazardous biomaterials from Hardhome,” Bran replied, as his fingers danced across the keyboard, bringing up a manifest from the Silence, “It doesn’t say what kind of biomaterials.” 

“Not in my city,” Jon growled and stood up, nodding to this cousin.

Simultaneously they jumped from the roof of the warehouse and into the night sky. 

_Thwip, thwip,_ Grappling hooks shot through the night, _twinking_ softly as they wrapped around a crane on the far side of the yard. The two superheroes landed quietly a short distance away and unnoticed by the men loading the truck. 

Jon pointed to his eyes and then off to the left. Sansa nodded and silently skipped away, cartwheeling the last few feet and leaping into the air to land silently on the top of the truck. _Show off,_ Jon scoffed as she waved at him. 

Turning back to the men loading the truck, he could hear one of them talking. 

“Hurry up! We don’t want any canine cunts interfering.”

“Arrr-oooh-wooo” a wolf howl echoed through the mostly empty dock.

The men froze as Sansa’s howl rumbled to a stop, fear stroking their faces. 

As children, growing up with his Uncle Nedd’s family, Jon had learned to howl. They could all howl, Sansa, Bran and Jon, the ability worked well, throwing criminals off their game. 

“To late,” Jon’s voice growled in a deep gruff rumble, as he leaped from the shadows. 

Two of the men rushed toward Jon. The third, the leader pulled out a gun, firing past his own men and just missing the Wolf as Jon dodged away.

Spinning around Jon kicked one of the attackers and punched the second man in his chest. Meanwhile Lady Wolf leapt from the top of the truck, kicking the gun from the leader’s hands. The weapon fired, the bullet ricocheting off one of the crates. 

The leader wasn’t daunted he ran toward the young woman, his hands reaching for her throat. Sansa jumped, spun around and kicked him in the face, spinning him around to collapse on the ground.

Jon had grabbed one of the men by the throat, pulling him forward, growling into his face. “What are you smuggling into my city?” 

The man gargled, incoherently. The Wolf saw the man had no tongue. Frustrated and horrified Jon dropped him to the ground.

A loud crack drew their attention to the crate. The gunshot had dislodged the lock, and something inside was trying to escape. The crate shook and broke apart. A creature, which could only be described, as pure death darted out of the crate. 

“Zombie!” Lady Wolf smiled, “I love Zombies!”

For lack of a better description, Jon had to agree with her. The creature did appear to be a zombie. _But, did she need to sound so happy about it?_

They surrounded the zombie dodging its slow moving attacks as they kicked and punched the creature. It seemed immune to their attacks. It jolted, when they kicked, but didn’t fall. It wavered when they punched, but it didn’t drop.

“How do you kill a Zombie?” Jon growled to his cousin, the apparent Zombie expert. 

“The head,” Lady Wolf shouted, “Take off its head!”

The Black Wolf pulled out his grappling hook, wrapping the long chain around the creature’s neck and pulling. An unsettling pop followed as its head separated from its body. Still it didn’t stop, mindless and now sightless it swung its tattered arms wildly. The repugnant head dropped to the ground, its teeth gnashing wildly.

“No good,” Jon roared, “any other ideas?”

Sansa grabbed the leader’s abandoned gun and fired, the creature flew backward, but it didn’t drop. It shook off the gunshot and rushed toward Sansa, waving its arms, a headless unstoppable corpse. 

Kicks, punches and bullets couldn’t stop the creature. Even removing its head hadn't worked. Without much hope of succeeding, _I’m going to lose another cousin,_ Jon thought in dread. 

Pulling a wolf’s claw from his belt, the modified throwing star, in the shape of a wolf’s claw, flew through the air, imbedding into the creature’s back. Shuddering violently, the zombie collapsed to the ground twitching several time before it stopped moving and lay still.

“How?” Sansa gasped.

Bending down Jon pulled the black dragonglass wolf’s claw from the creature’s back, looking down at it in confusion. 

“I don’t know,” he answered.

-oOo-

The cool breeze fluttered through Jaime’s golden hair as he leaned out of the helicopter. Below the highlands of the Frostfangs appeared out of the mist. 

Short shrubs and dry grasses covered the land, the only vegetation that grew at on the high ridges, of the mountain range. Below in the valleys and along the canyon that followed a mountain river south, weirwoods and conifers blanketed the land in a patchwork of green and red. 

Jaime wasn’t complaining, he was out of his cell and he had his hand. The phantom energy shimmered in the morning light, a sapphire glow, rippling and crackling with power. He opened and closed his fist, reveling in the feeling of movement.

He could reshape it to any object, a sword, a hook, a key, even fire that would crackle, burn and radiate heat like a real fire. His phantom hand could also pack a punch. Many a potential superhero had been on the receiving end of that punch and regretted it. 

Pulling on what appeared to be only, a simple black leather glove, the shimmering glow went dark. Jaime wondered about the glove, most materials would ignite into flames after prolonged contact with his hand. The Nights Watch apparently knew more about his powers than he did. 

“ETA five minutes,” the pilot announced, the helicopter turned, heading for the precipice of a large cliff. 

Their pilot settled the helicopter down on a flat grass covered precipice, a short distance away from a ring of standing stones, the Fist of the First Men.

The Hound jumped down first, bending low and sprinting under the spinning blades. The hound wore the same solid black disguise, reminiscent of the ancient Nights Watch, without any insignia, that would identify him as military. He stopped a short distance away and waited for the other members of the team to exit the Helicopter. 

They jumped down one at a time. Rorge’s replacement last, another Bloody Mummer. The Nights Watch had managed to find the one prisoner more repulsive than Rorge. As Biter jumped down, he leered at Arya and Brienne as they ran toward sergeant Clegane. 

Jaime felt his phantom hand pulse in fury. It did that sometimes, reacting to his emotions. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his mind. Jaime didn’t need his hand, telling him how he felt. 

He knew he hated Brienne fucking Tarth…didn’t he? She was so full of herself, like she was better than the rest of them. What did he care if Biter tried to kill or rape her? 

Jaime sat down on a nearby rock and stared at his fellow members of the Suicide Squad. _Stupid wench_ He grumbled to himself.

Arya, Brienne and Anguy stood next to Clegane, listening to his instructions, like good little minions. Brienne seemed to get along with Arya and Anguy. They were convicts, criminals and assassins, just the same as him. What was the deal? He couldn’t figure it out. 

Sure, Anguy was some kind of freedom fighter, a rebel fighting against the oppressive corporate machine, and maybe there was some romance in that. The Brotherhood without Banners, Jaime snorted, self-proclaimed protectors of the Riverlands. 

The Brotherhood had blown up the LannisCorps offices in Oldtown, killing several employees, men and women with families. Where was the romance, the honor in that? _Stupid idealistic wench,_ Jaime sneered looking away from her ugly face. 

However, his eyes were soon, drawn back. Brienne also appeared to have taken a liking to the little assassin. 

_What the fuck?_ Jaime thought, as if Arya wasn’t a hardened murderer. What did the stupid wench think the Faceless Men did? Jaime had killed many people, countless actually. However, he was sure Arya’s…No One’s death count was just as high, maybe even higher.

“What’s do you say Kingslayer?” Biter growled through sharped teeth, “We kill the Archer and the big marine. Rape the two girlies and make our escape.”

The repulsive man had scuttled up to Jaime and sat down, grinning up at him with sinister yellow teeth. 

Pulling off the mysterious glove, Jaime looked down at the disgusting man in contempt. His phantom hand undulated, transforming into a lion’s head, its large jaws snapped at Biter, barely missing his face. 

The Bloody Mummer, lurched backwards, “Fuck you Kingslayer,” he growled and scrambled away.

Jaime laughed, and turned back to stare at Brienne Tarth, _stupid ugly idealistic wench,_ he thought in contempt, _But, she does have amazing eyes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are Love!


	5. Canyons of the Frostfangs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Suicide Squad begins their journey into the Mountains of the Frostfangs in search for the mysterious super-villain, the Night King and discover just what he is planning.

Chapter Five  
Canyons of the Frostfangs

The river complained as it rumbled south, glacial waters flowed down from the ice cut mountains of the Frostfangs. Wind and the river had carved a steep-walled valley through the high peaks of the mountains.

Task Force X, led by Sergeant Clegane, made reasonable good time climbing into the mountain, following the course of the river as it carved a deep canyon though the tall ridges of the mountain range.

The lands north of the Wall had been part of the United Kingdoms of Westeros for at least five hundred years. However, the people who lived this far north often refused to acknowledge that fact. Known malcontents, they hated the government and strangers alike. Oleanna Tyrell had ordered them to avoid the inhabitants of the region at all cost.

The Hound and Brienne led, they never seemed to tire, setting the pace for the rest of the squad. 

Jaime hiked behind Anguy and Arya. At the beginning of their journey into the mountains, Anguy had chatted incessantly, barking and howling at the tall sergeant like a stray dog. To everyone’s relief the young archer had since quieted down. 

Behind him, Jaime could hear Biter, panting and struggling to keep pace. It was probably for the best, an exhausted Biter couldn’t cause problems when they camped for the night.

They stopped at noon to rest and eat. The Hound stood off to the side, checking his GPS and talking to himself. 

After he ate, more than his share of the rations, Biter had collapsed in a heap snoring loudly. 

Brienne, Arya and Anguy, sat together on a fallen tree, the young archer was regaling the two young women with tales of his heroics. Much to Jaime’s chagrin, Brienne seemed impressed by the Archers exploits.

Why did he care what she thought, if the stupid wench wanted to fantasize about brave young rebels, it was none of his concern. 

“Fighting for the poor and downtrodden is a noble cause, ser” Brienne said to Anguy. 

Jaime rolled his eyes. 

“Although, some of the tactics the Brotherhood uses,” Brienne shook her head, “couldn’t you have found some nonviolent way-?”

Jaime had to laugh, “Tell me wench, what is your back story? They usually don’t dump nonviolent prisoners in Castle Black.”

The wench looked horrified, her face reflecting a painful memory. At that moment, Jaime felt terrible for bringing it up. How she had ended up at Castle Black wasn’t really any of his business anyway.

Having concluded his conversation with himself, the Hound ambled over and stood behind them, listening to their conversation.

“She was the private secretary and bodyguard, to Renly Baratheon,” the Hound’s gruff voice replied, “She murdered him in a jealous rage.”

“The actor?” Anguy said excitedly and perhaps a little insensitively, “I saw him in ‘Jenny Oldstones’…good movie-.”

“No…I didn’t do it, it was the shadow -,” Brienne cried, her eyes glistening with tears.

“Sure, we’re all innocent as kittens,” Jaime scoffed.

“Leave her alone, Kingslayer,” Anguy sneered at him, comforting the tall woman by rubbing her back.

Brienne Tarth forced a smile, as she looked at the young archer. 

Jaime’s emerald eyes flashed in anger, his phantom hand twitching. He wanted to smack the smug archer’s hand right off his smug self. _Stupid naive wench, falling for that line._

Jaime stalked back to the river, sitting down and throwing stones into the swift current until Clegane announced their rest over by roughly kicking Biter in the side to wake him.

The rest of the afternoon went the same as the morning, Brienne and the Hound, setting an unrealistic pace, forcing the rest of them to struggle just to keep up. 

While they were setting up their tents for the night, the Hound took the time to remind them. If his heart stopped during the night, all of their nano-bombs would explode in unison. After the warning, the large marine crawled into his tent, loud snores immediately followed.

“Whoof, whoof,” Anguy barked and howled at Clegane’s retreating backside, causing Brienne and Arya to snicker. The Archer smiled smugly at Jaime, escorting both of the young women to the fire. 

Biter scowled at the Hound’s tent, and then at Jaime and the Archer, before he crawled into his own tent and was quickly asleep. 

Jaime sat down on the other side of the fire and studied the three young people across from him. They were all close to the same age maybe it was fated that they would find some kind of commonality. 

Listening as Anguy told his insipid stories, he was surprised the two women were buying it. Most of the Archer’s tales, Jaime knew for a fact were exaggerations and half-truths.

The Kingslayer yawned, having grown bored of the Archer’s stories and tall tales. Jaime crawled into his tent, instantly falling into a restless sleep. 

_Jaime was a prisoner, but not of the authorities, not of Oleanna Tyrell and the Nights Watch. He was a prisoner of the Bloody Mummers, along with the wench, Brienne of Tarth. After riding all day, tied together on a horse. A horse? The vile men pulled them roughly from the animal, tying them to a tree. The men began to discuss their cruel plans for the maiden, before pulling Brienne behind the trees, her screams echoed through the trees._

_The Kingslayer didn’t know why he was suddenly living in a medieval nightmare, or why he and Brienne were prisoners of the Bloody Mummers. The wench looked slightly different, she didn’t’ have those adorable freckles, but he knew it was her, the eyes were the same, the shape of her face and her height was the same. Another thing he knew was he had to stop them from raping her._

_“You know who she is?” he asked the leader of the Bloody Mummers, a small man named Locke._

_Jaime had to wonder, who the seven hells is Locke? The leader of the Bloody Mummers was Vargo Hoat._

_“…her father is Lord Selwyn Tarth, have you heard of him? He will pay her weight in sapphires if she is returned, alive with her honor besmirched.”_

_How did I know that? That Brienne’s father was a Lord, he didn’t know a thing of Brienne Tarth’s family. It was as if his words processed a will of their own, tales of sapphires and rewards had spilled forth, immerging from his mouth, without conscience thought on this part._

_After ordering his men to stop, Locke led Jaime through the trees, with the promise of a meal. Events quickly turned sour. One of the Bloody Mummers kicked the back of Jaime’s knee and knocked him to the ground, stretching his right arm across a large tree trunk._

_What was going on? Jaime wondered in confusion, as he gaped at his right hand. It was real, made of flesh and bone, not comprised of phantom energy. He could feel the blood flowing through his fingers, a slight breeze ghosting across his skin, the rough bark under his palm. It felt amazing! The sensation sent a shiver down his spine. His phantom hand was an incredible weapon, but it wasn’t real. Jaime hadn’t realized how much he missed his real hand._

_“…this should help you remember,” Locke said with a sneer, as a sharp blade sliced through his wrist._

Jaime sat up, clutching his right wrist. His phantom hand erupted in an explosion of sapphire blue light, illuminating the inside of his tent in an eerie blue glow.

Still trembling by the realism of the strange dream, Jaime crawled out of the tent, seeking fresh air. The fire had burned down, leaving only slightly glowing embers. A lone figure sat next to the diminished fire, everyone else having retired to his or her tent, for a much-needed rest after the long march up the canyon.

Brienne looked up as the Kingslayer approached the fire.

“Bad dream?” She asked, in concern or kindness, he wasn’t sure. 

He nodded and ran his fingers through his hair, “how-?”

“I heard you cry out,” she said, poking the fire with a long stick.

“Why are you still awake?” Jaime asked. He didn’t want to discuss his strange dream with the ridicules wench.

“I couldn’t sleep,” her eyes filled with sorrow, she sniffed and looked away.

“You’re thinking about your actor boyfriend?” Jaime snorted, instantly regretting his sharp tongue as her sad blue eyes fell on him.

“He wasn’t my boyfriend,” she scowled.

“But you wish he had been,” Jaime replied haughtily.'

Her eyes flashed cold, before turning sorrowful. 

_It was true then,_ he realized _she had loved Renly Baratheon._

She looked so miserable that Jaime almost felt the need to comfort her. 

“I don’t blame you,” Jaime finally said, “We don’t get to choose who we love.”

“I didn’t kill him,” Brienne's voice caught in her throat.

Anguy and Arya had been sympathetic, but Brienne could tell they believed she had killed Renly in a bout of jealous rage. Of course, she didn’t tell them what had really happened, she was tired of explaining what really happened, only to have no one believe her.

“I believe you,” Jaime whispered, not taking his eyes off the fire.

Brienne mouth dropped open, somehow she knew he wasn’t lying, he actually believed her, “why?…everyone else believes I did it?”

Jaime shrugged and turned to look into her eyes, “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know you, but it doesn’t seem like something you would do.”

A slight smile twitched at Brienne’s lips, before she realized the only person ever to believe her, was a notorious supervillain. She turned away from his emerald gaze.

“This world is full of bizarre mysteries,” Jaime said, holding up his phantom hand, “who’s to say shadows can’t appear and kill people. Maybe it was another meta.”

“I know who it was,” Brienne moaned, “the shadow had the face of Stannis Baratheon.”

“Who?” Jaime asked a little surprised, “that smug televangelist.”

“Stannis Baratheon is… was Renly’s brother,” Brienne snorted, “and he didn’t approve of Renly’s lifestyle.”

Jaime had heard of the Baratheon brothers and their famous feud. His twin sister Cersei had married a cousin of the brothers. Robert Baratheon ever the politician, wasn’t against using Renly’s movie-star status to gain votes from the liberal elite, or Stannis’ fame as a religious leader, to gain the support of the conservative masses.

A warm hand brushed against Jaime’s arm, he looked down, and Brienne’s hand was lightly resting on his sleeve. 

“Thank you,” she sighed and stood up, walking back to her tent.

“For what?” Jaime called after her.

“For believing me,” she forced a sad smile before crawling inside. 

Jaime stared after her. Warmth radiated from where Brienne had touched his arm. A few minutes later, he heard the sound of light sobs coming from her tent. 

Turning to the dying fire, Jaime fought back the urge to go to her and hold Brienne Tarth in his arms until she cried herself to sleep.

-oOo-

Brienne was rudely waken by Sergeant Clegane, pounding on the canvas of her tent. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes Brienne crawled out of the small tent. The crisp early morning air clawed her face and stung her eyes.

Blinking she saw him standing near the remains of last night’s fire. The Kingslayer, tall and golden, with vivid green eyes the color of emeralds, a wry smile spread across his lips when he saw her.

Brienne looked away and scowled, more at herself and the reaction of her body to the handsome man who looked at her so intently. She knew he couldn’t possibly be interested in her. He had been kind, as Renly had been kind. Renly’s death had nearly destroyed her. Brienne still cried herself to sleep most nights. 

It surprised her, that it wasn’t his identity as the infamous supervillain, the Kingslayer, which plagued her mind. It was the fact that in all likelihood neither of them would survive this mission. She couldn’t go through that again, nothing's more hateful than failing to protect the one you love. No, it was better to keep a distance. 

Jaime noticed her scowl. He thought they had made a connection by the fire last night. He was no doubt quite wrong, gauging from the wench’s reaction, glowering and refusing to look at him. 

His jaw clenched and he pressed his lips together in a frown, _What do I care what she thinks? Stupid wench._

After packing up the campsite, they began their trek again, following the river north. Frost covered the ground in a thin white icy haze. The ground had become uneven and rocky, although they were still under the tree line the tall conifers began to thin, as they made their way higher into the Frostfangs. 

Jaime followed behind Brienne and the Hound, glaring at the back of the wench’s pale blond head. 

Through the skin-tight black fabric of her costume, Jaime could see her muscles straining from the exertion of the hike up the mountain. Brienne easily kept pace with the large marine. Her strength was truly astonishing.

Jaime found himself concentrating on Brienne firm ass, as she trudged ahead of him. A sly smile twitched at the corner of this mouth. _A very nice ass,_ he found himself thinking. 

Suddenly Brienne stopped and turned, her brilliant blue eyes scowling. Pressing her lips together, Brienne dug into the pack, pulling out a light jacket and tying it around her waist. She glared at Jaime smugly before sprinting to catch up to the Hound. 

Jaime couldn’t understand why she was acting so friendly toward the large marine, _Stupid ugly wench!_

The Hound had no business spilling her secrets, when he told them she had killed Renly Baratheon. Like Ayra and Anguy, the large man didn’t even believe her, when she claimed her innocence. 

Jaime believed her, yet she still hated him, and she liked the Hound. The tall marine had made it clear, he believed they were all psychotic anti-social freaks, criminals and murderers, not worth his time or effort. Why did she like him and not Jaime? 

Probably because the honorable Staff Sergeant Sandor Clegane, as ugly as he is, was one of the good guys, _stupid wench, believing stupid stories about stupid heroes._

“There is no such thing as a knight in shining armor,” he mumbled under his breath.

Both Brienne and the Hound stopped, turning around to look at him in confusion.

“What was that, Kingslayer?” Clegane asked.

“Nothing…I was just wondering when we’re going to stop for lunch?” 

The Hound looked up into the clear sky, the sun shined directly overhead. 

“You need a break Kingslayer?” the Hound laughed gruffly. 

Jaime realized the only reason they hadn’t stopped immediately, was that the Hound was an asshole. The sun was directly overhead. It was noon, time to rest and eat. It wasn’t until another hour of trudging over slippery rocks that the marine finally called a halt.

Again, Anguy regaled Brienne and Ayra with tales of his valor. Biter ate more than his share and fell asleep in a patch of sunlight. 

The Hound wondered a short distance away, studying his GPS and talking to himself.

“ETA to Thenn Pass, tomorrow 1800 hours,” Jaime heard the Hound droning on, “Yes Director Tyrell, we are making excellent progress, I am surprised.” 

Jaime watched the tall marine, realizing he wasn’t talking to himself. He was talking to Olenna Tyrell, the Queen of Thorns, through an earpiece. 

After a quick break, the Hound again kicked Biter awake and they resumed their journey up the mountain. 

They didn’t stop again until the sun began to set behind the western ridge of the Frostfangs. Setting up camp in the deep canyon, dug out by the swiftly flowing river. Not many trees grew this high up on the mountain, only few weirwoods strewn among the maze of boulders. The large rocks, like the scattering of seeds on the wind, lay dispersed around the base of the cliff.

A hawk screeched as it soared overhead, dipping low and circling around their campsite before rising on the thermal winds.

Anguy had laid down, his hands behind his head, on a soft patch of moss, enjoying the sunset. Suddenly he jumped to his feet, looking up at the hawk, as it circled around a second time.

“Archer?” the Hound asked noticing the young man’s reaction.

“That hawk,” Anguy replied pointing up into the sky, “isn’t behaving…well, like a hawk.”

“How do you know how a hawk acts?” Biter scoffed at the young man.

“Because the Brotherhood often hid out by camping in the Riverlands,” he turned to glare at Biter, “we didn’t invade innocent people’s homes and rape their daughters.”

Biter sneered at Archer, hatred spread across his ugly face. It was obvious that he planned to lunged at the young man, and rip his face off. 

Brienne and Arya both stepped in front of Anguy daring Biter to try. Anguy raised his bow, aiming at the vile man’s head, the expression on his young face mirrored that of the two women.

The soft click of the Hound releasing the safety of his machine gun quickly settled the stewing dispute. 

The Bloody Mummer hollered in rage and stomped off into the maze of large boulders.

“What do you think it means?” Brienne asked, after Biter had stalked away.

“There are stories,” Arya said, surprising everyone because she rarely spoke, preferring to watch and listen, “ancient stories from the far north, of wargs, people who could jump into the minds of animals.”

The Hound replied in annoyance, “pffft, northern superstitions.”

“Is it anymore implausible?” Jaime retorted, “then a person changing their face or having a phantom hand?”

“If you are right,” the Hound said, raising his assault rifle and looking around at the large boulders that surrounded the campsite, “than we are not alone.”

An owl hooted of in the distance, they all turned in the direction of the mysterious raptor. An eerie silence filled the canyon, and then suddenly, shouts, and a loud _cro-ack,_ as a single gunshot echoed off the canyon walls. The bullet grazed the Hound’s shoulder.

“Take cover!” Clegane hollowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are Love


	6. The Labyrinth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an attack by Wildlings, the Suicide Squad is separated.

Chapter Six  
The Labyrinth

The labyrinth of boulders that scattered the canyon floor was a showcase of geological magic, a wretched and confusing maze of cold granite and limestone. 

Brienne had escaped into the maze as bullets begun to ricochets off the tall boulders. She could hear the shouts of the attackers as they scurried through the labyrinth. Clutching the valyrian steel baton in her hand, she pressed her back against the canyon wall, hoping to make herself small. It didn’t work.

“Over here!” she heard a man shout, “I found one!”

A large man in a red plaid shirt appeared from the shadows. “My, my, aren’t you the beauty and strong I would think,” the man smirked as he lumbered forward.

Brienne edged backwards raising the cudgel in front of her.

“Watcha plan on doing with that there big old stick,” the man laughed.

“Just walk away, ser,” Brienne gasped, “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

The man grinned wickedly, raising his shotgun, aiming it at Brienne’s chest, “Shame really, such a pretty thing.”

Brienne dodged as he pulled the trigger, the blast from the Wildling’s gun echoed through the canon as the bullet embedded into the rock face, sending sharp shards of stone flying into the air. 

Rushing forward, Brienne kicked the man in the gut, knocking the shotgun from his hands.

He rocked backwards slightly and laughed, “You are strong!” he pulled out a large knife and lunged forward, “I’m thinking I’ll keep your pretty speckled hide, use it to decorate my bedroom wall.” 

Brienne’s eyes grew wide, he couldn’t he be serious. The sinister grin on the man’s face warned her that he was.

Spinning around, she kicked him in the chest, and in the same motion smashing the baton against the man’s skull, blood and gore gushing over her hand as she staggered backwards. 

_I killed him,_ she gasped in horror at her blood stained hands, even though she was in prison for murder, she had never actually killed anyone. 

Terrified Brienne ran through the maze. Gunshots echoed around her, both the _ratta-ratta-ratta_ of the Hound’s automatic machine gun and the solitary loud _cra-ack, cra-ack_ of the Wildlings’ shotguns. 

Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision. The words, _I killed someone, I killed a person,_ kept running through her mind. 

Running further into the stone labyrinth, the shouts and gunshots began to fade behind her. A voice inside Brienne’s head told her, she should go back to the campsite and find her companions. Yet another stronger voice screamed, _run…escape this madness!_

Brienne gasped as a blurry shape stepped from the shadows in front of her. 

“Walk away,” she begged the mysterious shape, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“That is good news for me,” a rasping, yet familiar voice replied.

Brienne used her sleeve to whip the tears from her eyes, Biter stood in front of her, a wide grin growing on his pudgy face, showing a row of ugly sharpened teeth.

“Biter,” she said in relief, “we need to get back to -,”

“Oh think of how sad, our poor little archer will be,” Biter said in mock concern, “when I tell him, how I found the corpse of one of his poor little…well in your case, his big girlie. Raped and murdered by those bad…bad Wildlings.”

Brienne backed away, realizing what he had planned, “Stay back, Biter,” she said raising her cudgel, “I know how to use this.”

Biter gnashed his sharp teeth loudly, “and I know how to use these!”

He launched at Brienne with enough force to knock her backwards, her baton flying from her grasp. Landing on her back, the wind escaped from her lungs. Biter was instantly on top of her, grabbing Brienne’s hair and slamming her head into the rocky ground.

Brienne fought through the stars that filled her vision, trying to kick him off, but the man was much stronger than he looked. Leaning down and gnashing his teeth. Biter snapped at her face, barely missing. Brienne punched him in the jaw, sending several sharp teeth flying.

“You will pay for that bitch,” Bitter snarled, again snapping at her face.

Brienne reached up and wrapping her long fingers around his head, digging her thumbs into his eye sockets and pushing his gnashing teeth away from her face.

He snapped at her arm, startled she lost her grip for only a second. Biter lunged forward, his sharp teeth scrapping down Brienne’s face. 

Blood from the wound flowed into her eyes, temporarily blinding her. Panic and pain filled Brienne’s mind, as she struggled to keep Biter’s gnashing teeth from doing even more damage.

“Stop struggle-,” Biter grunted and then went limp, rolling off her.

Brienne felt strong arms wrap around her, pulling her up to a sitting position. She tried to push away the new threat.

“Wench,” the Kingslayer’s haughty voice breathed in her ear, “calm down, you’re safe.”

Brienne stopped struggling and felt a gentle hand wiping the blood away from her eyes. The golden hair and emerald eyes of the Kingslayer appeared through the reddish haze of her blood.

“He…he,” Brienne gasped, “was trying to eat my face.”

“I see,” Jaime said, holding her chin and raising her face, dabbing more blood away from the long gash on her cheek. 

After he cleaned most of the blood away, Jaime looked at her and sighed. “It’s deep, I’m going to have to cauterize the wound,” he said softly trying to calm her, “I’m sorry it will hurt.”

“How are you going to caurter-?” Brienne started to ask, they didn’t have a fire.

Jaime held up his phantom hand, and winking at her, “Hold completely still, we wouldn’t want to burn away any of those adorable little freckles.”

Fear filled Brienne eyes, but she nodded, biting her lip. The Kingslayer held her chin still, as he traced the gash on her cheek with a long phantom finger. The smell of burning flesh drifted into Brienne’s nose, as the wound seared shut. The pain was even worse than the original bite. 

“I’m sorry, there will be a scar,” The Kingslayer said softly, “although it could have been worse.”

“Thank you, Kingslayer,” Brienne replied.

Not for the first time, Jaime hated the name Kingslayer. He usually tolerated it, but it sounded wrong coming from her lips.

“Jaime,” he corrected.

“What?” 

“My name is Jaime.” 

“I…ah…you’re hurt!” Brienne gasped, noticing the dried blood on Jaime’s side.

“It’s ok…the bullet went all the way through,” Jaime said as he struggled to his feet.

“You were shot!” Brienne cried, looking at the wound and the burns surrounding it, “you cauterized it yourself?”

“Had too,” Jaime shrugged as if it was nothing, “it wouldn’t stop bleeding.”

“We need to find the others,” Brienne gasped in pain as Jaime helped her to her feet.

Jaime nodded, taking her hand. They leaned on each other as they followed the cliff face, trying to find the exit of the maze.

After Jaime and then Brienne almost collapsed from loss of blood he decided, they needed to stop and rest.

“We can’t, Director Tyrell -,” Brienne cried.

“She can track us, she can tell we are not running,” Jaime droned, “and if we don’t find shelter soon, we will both die anyway.”

Although the days were only mildly chilly, the nights north of the Wall could reach below freezing. Jaime’s phantom hand could generate a small amount of heat. Not enough to keep them warm, if they were out in the open, they needed to find shelter. 

Jaime pointed at a small crevice in the cliff face, “that cave should provide some shelter for the night.”

The opening was only large enough for them to crawl in one at a time. After a few feet, it opened up into a large cavern. The air was warm and thick with humidity. 

Jaime’s phantom hand light up the space in sapphire light, which reflected off large crystals hanging from the ceiling, and in a corner under a wide ledge, wisps of steam rose from a small pool. 

Jaime fell to his knees. So worried about the wench, Jamie hadn’t noticed the wound in his side had reopened. 

Brienne gasped, “Do you need to cauterize it again?”

“No,” Jaime grunted in pain, “just make sure it’s clean and bandaged.”

Brienne ripped off her sleeves and used the water from the pool to clean the blood away, bandaging the wound. By the time she was finished, Jaime was falling in and out of consciousness, the light from his hand flickered and finally fell silent as he slipped into a deep sleep. 

Without the sapphire glow from Jaime’s phantom hand, the cavern fell into complete darkness. 

Brienne untied the jacket from around her waist, using it as a pillow and laying down a little away from the mysterious supervillain. He had saved her, and the care he had shown, it didn’t match the reputation of the infamous Kingslayer.

Several hours later, Jaime moaned as another restless dream invaded his subconscious. He couldn’t understand all these strange dreams lately. Once again, he was in some kind of mediaeval nightmare. 

_“Why did you save me,” the wench asked in his dream._

Shivering he woke and rolled over reaching out for the wench, she wasn’t there. Alarmed, Jaime sat up and raised his arm. His phantom hand glimmered, casting the cavern in a sapphire glow.

Looking around he finally found his missing wench, her pale hair glowing soft blue in the phantom light. She was sitting a short distance away, her brilliant blue eyes, glowing in response to the radiance of his phantom hand.

“Why did you save me?” The wench asked.

Startled Jaime could only stare for a moment. Hadn’t she just asked the same question in his dream? He couldn’t answer her in the dream, but this was reality, and he already had quip ready.

“I always wanted to be a knight in shining armor,” he chuckled.

“Don’t you mock me,” Brienne hissed in reply.

Jaime scoffed, and looked away. After a few minutes, he turned back and said, “It’s true enough though, when I was a boy, I dreamed of becoming a knight.” 

“Nobody forced you to become what you are,” Brienne said frankly, “you could have been something different. With your powers, you could have been hero.”

“No, I couldn’t” Jaime snarled.

“Why?” Brienne scoffed, “were you craven?”

Jaime turned away from her accusatory face. She didn’t know…what he had seen, what he had stopped Aerys Targaryen from doing. 

“You don’t know…,” Jaime grunted, “No one does.”

“Then tell me,” she said flatly.

Turning back, he looked into her eyes. Very few people had bothered to ask him why he had killed Aerys Targaryn. If her simple request was the reason or something more, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was she deserved the truth, the good and the bad.

“The Wildfire King’s sins went far beyond selling biochemical weapons to the enemies of the United Kingdoms.” Jaime began. 

The fact that Jaime had only found out about Aerys’ crimes, because a former employee of Targaryen Industries had come to him, with a flash drive of stolen corporate secrets, was beside the point. 

At first, Jaime didn’t believe the recordings of Aerys’ mutagen experiments. Kidnapped runaways from the streets of Fleabottom, exposed to a toxin, their bodies horribly mutated, most of them died.

Jaime didn’t go straight to the authorities. The recordings were so unimaginable, that they had to be fake. If Jaime went to the police, he would be admitting he had paid for corporate secrets. Instead, being young and impulsive, and hoping to impress his father, Jaime had decided to investigate. 

Late one night after bribing a security guard, Jaime had slipped into Aerys’ laboratory, hoping to find incriminating evidence. 

What he found was worse. Aerys and his chief scientist Wisdom Rossart were in the lab. Jaime overheard them discussing a plot to release the mutagen into Kings Landing’s water system. 

Impetuous as ever, Jaime confronted Aerys, threatening to go to the police. The mad Wildfire King merely laughed and ordered Rossart to release the mutagen. 

Jaime seized the scientist by his lab coat, tossing him roughly into a workstation. The man groaned in pain as chemicals crashed down on top of him. 

The mad Wildfire King screamed in rage, and tried to release the toxin himself. 

In the resulting struggle, a gunshot, an alarm and an explosion rocked through the lab, crushing all three men in a mound of debris. It took two days before the authorities found Jaime alive in the rubble. Phantom energy from one of Aerys’ experiment had saturated Jaime’s body, as he lay trapped under the debris.

“If this is true,” Brienne replied after Jaime finished his tale, “why didn’t you go to the police? Tell them what happened.”

“My father wanted Aerys’ research, and bribed the right politicians, to drop the investigation and to keep my name out of the press,” Jaime scoffed, “Aerys’ death was blamed on a mysterious supervillain, which the news media soon dubbed the Kingslayer.”

“So you became the Kingslayer?” Brienne asked, “Why?”

“No one wanted to hear my explanation, they assumed I killed Aerys on propose, like I was some kind of supervillain,” Jaime smiled smugly, “I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

-oOo-

Few buildings still stood in the ruins of ancient Winterfell. The remnants of a curtain wall comprised mostly of loose stones. The lone crumbling tower, covered in vines that laced around its base and clung to the sides.

Jon’s parents had bought the castle and the surrounding land after they had married. They had also built the grand mansion nearby, which they had named Winterfell after the ancient castle. 

Before her marriage to Rhaegar Targaryen, Jon’s mother Lyanna had been a Stark, and the Starks after all, had once ruled the lands north of the Neck from their home in Winterfell, as Wardens’ of the North. 

Jon’s parents had died in a dark alley in White Harbor, when Jon was only nine years old. After his parent’s murder, Jon had gone to live with his Uncle Nedd, his wife Catelyn and their two children, Sansa and Bran. 

Nedd Stark was the police commissioner of White Harbor. He was an honorable and simple man, unprepared for the scandal and news coverage that surrounded the death of his sister and her famous husband. 

Rhaegar Targaryen was the only son of Aerys Targaryen, the wildfire king, and the chairman of Targaryen Industries. 

First, it was his grandfather’s mysterious death at the hands of the Kingslayer. Then Lyanna and Rhaegar’s murder, it was as if tragedy followed Jon. 

In response, the news media had stalked young Jon Targaryen and by association his cousins Sansa and Bran. 

Jon’s Aunt Catelyn blamed him for the disruption of their lives. Catelyn Stark intensely hated people who were famous for being famous, and she considered Jon one of those people. 

Nedd and his wife adopted Jon, and the young boy had become Jon Stark. The news media eventually grew bored of the simple family and moved on to more exciting prospects. 

Jon, the sole heir to the Targaryen’s vast fortune, moved back to his parent’s mansion when he came of age. He needed privacy, because he swore an oath to rid White Harbor of the criminal element that had murdered his parents. 

While the rest of the kingdoms knew him as the wealthy young heir to the Targaryen fortune, secretly, he became Black Wolf, the masked vigilante. Eventually, his young cousin Bran became the Raven, joining Jon in his nightly crime fighting activities.

Until the Kingslayer arrived, to rain even more terror down on Jon’s family, pushing the Raven from the tenth floor of the LannisCorp building, after a failed attempt to kidnap the wife of a prominent politician. 

The alarm alerted Bran of Jon and Sansa’s return. Bran turned to the security monitor, to watch as they entered the crypt though the secret passageway.

The dusty crypts of Winterfell, was the only structure of the ancient fortress that survived the Long Night. Jon had discovered the crypts, when he was a child. Before his parents’ death, Jon used to play in the ruins of the ancient castle. Sometimes his cousin’s Sansa and Bran would visit and they would explore the ruins together.

The Crypt had surprisingly stayed mostly intact, hidden underground for thousands of years. Many of the names on the statues, the ancient Wardens of the North were still readable. Eddard Stark, Robb Stark, William Stark, Lyanna Stark, Rickon Stark…

Bran’s domain was the one area of the crypt that was new and modern, where they had set up Bran’s computers and a high-tech laboratory. 

“Do you think there are more of them?” Bran asked.

The two crates, they had taken from White Harbors’ docks, were placed in a clean room behind an airlock, Jon stood next to Bran looking though the large plate-glass window. 

Jon looked down at this cousin and said seriously, “I need you to research reports of Zombies.” 

“Zombies?” Bran chuckled, shaking his head.

It was hard to believe Jon and Sansa had fought an actual zombie. Not for the first time, Bran cursed his disability and the man who had crippled him.

“Okay,” Bran sighed, “just don’t release it until I get back.”

“I don’t plan on releasing another one of those things until we know more about them.” Jon grumbled.

Bran wheelchair hummed as he made his way back to his computers and monitors. He knew a basic web search for Zombies would probably only lists various bad zombie movies and the video game, Harpies vs. Zombies. 

He did find an obscure thesis by a young acolyte, Jojen Reed at the Citadel. The current popularity of all things zombie had apparently peaked the young scholar’s interest and he had researched the creatures throughout history. Bran would have skipped past the thesis if the words, Long Night, Winterfell and Three-Eyed-Raven hadn’t caught his eye. 

Bran was so distracted by the young acolyte’s research he lost track of time. The coming of the Night King, the fall of Winterfell…the Three-Eyed-Raven, his eyes grew large.

“It has all happened before.” Bran said aloud, but there was no one around to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are Love


	7. The Cavern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime are separated from the team and have to spend a couple days in a small cave. Meanwhile the Hound, Anguy and Arya run into the locals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is my first attempt as putting a picture with the story. I finally figured out how to do it.
> 
> I am also looking for suggestions for a character that would be the GoT version of the Penguin, the king of crime in Gotham. So if anyone has any suggestions i'll give you a shout out in notes.

Chapter Seven  
The Cavern

The hot spring saturated the air with warmth. Heating the air until it was thick with humidity. It was warm, nice pleasantly warm.

Jaime stretched and yawned as his eyes fluttered open. As he woke, his phantom hand flickered, causing lights and shadows to dance across the rough stone of the cavern walls, before sheathing the chamber in a soft sapphire glow.

Jaime knew they couldn’t stay indefinitely and soon they would have to leave the warmth of the cavern. They had already rested a whole day. They had no food, because they both had left their packs at the campsite, when the Wildlings attacked.

Eventually Olenna Tyrell would expect them to rejoin the team, or she would blow the nano-bombs in their necks. Luckily, Jaime healed fast, a side effect of his Phantom powers, as he was certain Tyrell wouldn’t waste a medivac team on him.

Jaime searched the cavern for his wench. He finally found her soaking in the steamy water of the hot spring. Her eyes closed, she had sunken deep into the steaming water, and only her head rose above the surface.

The wench looked contented. Relaxing in the hot spring was an excellent idea. The steaming water would ease the soreness in his muscles, and his mind.

Jaime wasn’t looking forward to the hike up the mountain. A good soak before they started their trek, would make the journey at least somewhat bearable.

They still had to catch up with the rest of the team. If of course, the rest of the Suicide Squad even survived the Wildling attack.

Stripping off his boots, and dropping his clothing to the floor, he made his way to the enticing warmth of the hot spring. When Jaime stepped into the pool, the steamy water caresses his lower legs. Closing his eyes, a sigh escaped from his lips.

“Wait your turn!” Brienne gasped in horror.

Small wakes rippled across the surface of the water as she drew her legs up to her chest, wrapping her long arms around her knees.

“My muscles are sore now, wench,” he replied arrogantly, sighing again as he eased himself down into the silky water.

“My name is Brienne, Kingslayer…not wench.”

“…and my name is Jaime,” he smirked back, “since we are on a first name basics and not using codenames.”

“If I had a codename,” she hissed, “It wouldn’t be wench.”

“Wonder Wench?” Jaime chuckled.

Brienne snorted and turned away from him.

“Superwench?” Jaime replied mischievously.

“No!”

“Empress Wenchlexia of the Galactic-?,”

“Will you stop?” Brienne scowled, turning back to discover he had closed the distance between them and was now sitting uncomfortably close.

He took her chin in his left hand and turning her face so he could look into her eyes. Jaime’s thumb moved along her cheek as he studies her face.

“Sapphire,” he breathed in a throaty whisper, “your codename should be Sapphire.”

“What are you doing?” she gulped, crossing her arms over her chest and trying to edge away.

“Relax…not interested,” Jaime scowled, “I need to check if the bite is healing?”

His cock twitched and hardened, and Jaime realized he was lying. Relieved the darkness of the pool hid the turmoil below the water. He didn’t want to frighten her. The Wench…Brienne was already skittish around him.

“Its fine,” Brienne scowled and tried to brush his hand away.

“You’re lucky it isn’t worse,” Jaime smiled, running a finger down the long gash, “I’ve heard the Biter has gnawed people’s faces off.”

He was only being kind, Brienne realized, there is no need to be defensive all the time.

“I was lucky you arrived when you did.” She admitted, blushing slightly.

“It’s what us white knights do, we rescue maidens,” Jaime chuckled, “you are a maiden, aren’t you?”

Brienne rolled her eyes, but decided to ignore his rude comment. She was beginning to realize he enjoyed riling her up. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure.

“Your injury was much worse, King…um…Jaime,” she replied to take the conversation away from her, reaching down to check the gunshot wound on his side.

Her eyes went wide, when her hand accidently brushed against his hardened cock, which throbbed in response to her touch.

“I thought you said you weren’t-,” She gasped, flinching away in revulsion.

Jaime pressed his lips together in a frown and wondered, _am I really, that repulsive to her?_

“I am sorry, my lady,” Jaime sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “I assure you, it is not intentional.”

Brienne had been around enough male athletes to realize men didn’t need to feel an attraction to a woman to fuck her.

“Of course it wasn’t intentional,” Brienne glared, standing up and splashing out of the pool.

“I know I am not the type of woman men desire.” Brienne sneered at him, as she jammed her arms into her jacket.

The jacket only fell to Brienne’s upper thighs. She glared at him in fury, her arms crossed over her chest, holding the damp jacket shut. Her long legs, bare in the sapphire glow of the chamber.

Brienne’s angry reaction and appearance only exciting him more, swallowing Jaime could only gaze at her legs longingly.

“Really?” Brienne hissed in annoyance, when she noticed his stare.

Picking up her clothes, Brienne plodded off to the darkest corner of the cavern to dress quickly.

 

-oOo-

Arya had run into the stone labyrinth. The Hound had ordered them to take cover, and the rock maze was cover. She was perfectly capable defending herself against Wildlings.

Although she could fight in the open, she was more of a stealth fighter, the maze made it easy to pick off the mountain men, one at a time.

The canyon erupted into a simmering stew of shouts and gunshots. The _ratta- ratta- ratta_ of the Hound’s machine gun, answered with the loud shotgun blasts of the Wildlings’ weapons.

Her natural stealth and the midnight black of her costume made it easy for her to hide among the shadows of the large stones. She had already taken out three of the attackers, who had ran at her unawares.

After the guns fell silent, Arya froze and listened. _Crunch, crunch…_ stop, _crunch, crunch, crunch…_ stop, someone was approaching, someone heavy.

Climbing to the top of one of the tall boulders, Arya crouched down and waited for the footsteps to move closer. When the mysterious stranger paused beneath her, Arya jumped down, landing on broad shoulders.

A large hand reached up and yanked her off, slamming her hard to the ground. Arya stared up at her captor with feral gray eyes.

“What the fuck girl?” Sandor Clegane’s gruff voice growled, “Are you a wild animal? A feral little wolf-girl.”

Like a wolf, Arya howled, twisting in his grip, Breaking his hold and jumping to her feet.

“I thought you were one of them,” Arya growled, as if she were the feral wolf he had named her.

“No,” the marine snarled, “you didn’t.”

The young woman glared at the tall marine with savage eyes, before she burst out laughing, clutching her stomach and wheezing, struggling for breath.

“I saw an opportunity,” she panted through the laughter.

“Then you shouldn’t have held back,” the Hound said with a humph, turning to stalk away.

“Next time, maybe I won’t,” Arya said sinisterly, trailing after the tall marine.

The Hound paused and turned to glower down her, his lips pressing together in a stern frown.

 _Twaaang…_ an arrow embedded into the hard packed soil between the Hounds feet. The tall marine sergeant glared down at the shaft and slowly looked up. The young red haired archer, Anguy was crouched on the top of a nearby Saracen, smirking.

“Archer, get the fuck down here,” The Hound snarled up at the young archer, “What the fuck is wrong with you people?”

“We’re the bad guys,” Arya smirked, “It’s what we do.”

“We still need to find, Biter, the Kingslayer and that Tarth girl,” the Hound said ignoring her comment.

“I saw Brienne run off toward the cliff face,” Anguy said, jumping down from the high rock.

Almost an hour later, they found Biter’s corpse, the Hound rolled over the dead body, a scorched mark still smoldering laced his back. Nearby they found Brienne’s nightstick lying forgotten in the dirt.

“Wildlings didn’t do that,” Anguy inhaled sharply.

“No, it was the Kingslayer,” The Hound growled.

 

-oOo-

_VRAYRP!_ Bran’s phone squawked. The ‘you’ve been spotted’ alert from the popular video game Valyrian Gear: Steel Snake. The ring-tone let him now he had received an email. Glancing down at his phone, Bran noted the address, jojreed@thecitadel.ikw.edu, the domain identified the message as originating from the Citadel, the acolyte Jojen Reed had finally responded to his inquiry.

At that moment, if a cold shiver could run up Bran’s damaged spine, it would have. Glancing up he saw the expression on his mother’s face, definitely spotted, and with a phone during Sunday night dinner.

Sansa was looking at him in shock, and a little awe, she silently mouthed, “you brave fool.”

His father, Nedd Stark, chuckled and shook his head a sly smile twitched the corner of his mouth, until his wife noticed and he wisely flattened his expression to a disapproving frown.

“Bran!” his mother narrowed her eyes at her son, pressing her lips together in scowl.

Catelyn Stark did not allow phones at the table during their weekly family dinner. Even Nedd Stark, the Police Commissioner of White Harbor, had turned his phone off.

It didn’t matter if the Clown Prince was again terrorizing the city, or the Dragon Queen had stolen some priceless artifact. The officers at the station knew never to interrupt the commissioner, between the hours of six and seven on Sunday night.

“Honestly,” Catelyn Stark scowled, “I knew this would happen, he spends too much time with his cousin.”

“I’m sure Jon had nothing to do -,” Nedd Stark stared to reply.

“He is teaching our children to be just like him, disrespectful, the idle rich,” Catelyn frowned, “Jon doesn’t even bothered to show up for Sunday Dinner anymore.”

No one dared mention that Catelyn Stark had never accepted Jon into the family, and she didn’t really mind that he had stopped showing up for Sunday dinners. Catelyn only complained about Jon missing dinner, when it proved her point, that he was a bad influence on Sansa and Bran.

“Father,” Sansa said, quickly changing the subject, “I heard the Dragon Queen stole three dragon eggs from the history museum.”

Nedd Stark nodded, “She did, three priceless stone eggs on loan from the Freehold Museum in Pentos.”

“Was anyone hurt?” Bran asked.

“The Dragon Queen is a thief,” Nedd replied, “not a murderer, luckily.”

The subject successfully changed, they could talk about other more pleasant matters. Ever since Sansa and Bran had moved into an apartment closer to the University, where they both attended classes, Catelyn insisted the family have dinner together every Sunday night.

The sun had already set when they said goodbye to their parents and headed towards Sansa’s car.

“What was so important?” Sansa asked as she helped Bran into the front seat of her car, “That you had to interrupt dinner?”

“Zombies,” Bran replied taking out his phone.

Bran turned on his phone, the devise chirped alive with several loud squawks, opening his email, Bran read the message while Sansa stored his chair in the back.

“That acolyte from the Citadel, I was telling you about, Jojen Reed,” Bran said as Sansa climbed into the driver’s seat, “wants to meet, he and his sister are coming to Winterfell.”

 

-oOo-

It had snowed during the night, and all their tracks had vanished beneath a thick blanket of icy white snow. Sandor, Anguy and Arya had searched for their missing teammates until it had gotten too dark to see their tracks.

Making their way back to where they had left Biter’s corpse, they found the body of the Bloody Mummer missing.

“Why are we even looking for the Kingslayer?” Anguy growled, “why not just blow his nano-bomb, and be done with it?”

“Tyrell will detonate both of their nano-bombs, if we don’t find them soon,” the Hound said gruffly.

“He will just betray us all,” Arya snorted agreeing with Anguy’s assessment of Jaime Lannister.

“So what is the deal with you two and the Kingslayer?” He asked a little curious, “Why do you hate him so much?”

“He’s a Lannister,” they answered in unison.

The Hound and snorted and replied, “So...”

“Tywin Lannister bled the Riverlands dry, and then left for greener pastures in Dragon Bay,” Anguy hissed.

“What about you, wolf-girl?” the Hound asked looking at the young assassin, “What’s your beef with the Lannisters?”

Arya looked away, her shoulders tense, “they killed my father-.”

The sound of crunching stopped their conversation, someone treading through the icy snow of the canyon floor, alerting them they had company. The Hound raised his gun, turning to the direction of the sound.

“Show yourself!” He hollered.

 _Cha-click, cha-click,_ several rifles cocked, as a man walked from behind a row of boulders, his arms raised. The man was tall, although not as tall and the Hound, he wore the brown uniform of a country sheriff and had intense blue eyes, bright red hair and beard.

Several deputies, hidden amidst the tall boulders leveled their rifles at the Hound.

“Easy there big fella,” the red haired man replied, “We don’t mean you no harm.”

“Who in the Seven Hells are you?” the marine sneered.

“Tormund Gaintsbane, sheriff of these here parts,” the man replied, his arms still raised.

The Hound snorted and lowered his weapon, “you’re doing a piss poor job of it.”

Shaking off the insult the sheriff replied, “We have been tracking a band of renegade Thenns, I don’t suppose you have seen them?”

“We saw them alright, when they attacked our camp last night,” The Hound replied curtly, “several of our party, are still missing.”

“We did find a stranger…dead.” Gaintsbane grunted, “Funny looking fella, sharp teeth.

Most southerners believed the people of the far north were nothing more than, backwards malcontents, which wasn’t completely true. While some folks, like the Thenns the sheriff hunted, mistrusted the government and strangers equally, it wasn’t the cause for most of the Free-Folk, who were loyal citizens of the United Kingdoms of Westeroes.

It also was not true, that the Free-Folk, were all backwards and uneducated. The small town Sheriff was intelligent enough to know there was something dubious about this trio.

“My men and I will escort you back to Last Hope,” the sheriff said, eyeing them suspiciously, “You can identify the body we found, see if he’s one of your missing friends.”

Seeing no other alternative, the Hound nodded gathering up their belonging. If they didn’t cooperate, the already doubtful sheriff might suspect there was something more to them, then a simple family enjoying the great outdoors.

“We are kind of remote out here,” The Sheriff continued to babble, “Although, we have a small airport, Ygritte can fly you down to Casters after we find your friends.”

The sheriff and two of his deputies led them down into a secluded valley, at the bottom the quaint little town of Last Hope nestled between two tall ridges.

“Don’t break cover.” The Hound whispered to his two young companions, “I’m your father…got it. We will resupply in the village and then we can be on our way.”

Arya and Anguy nodded and scurried away when they noticed the red haired sheriff approaching.

The sheriff studied the three strangers suspiciously, the large man claimed, he and his kids, were camping with friends when the Thenns attacked their camp. Something about the story didn’t add up.

“I wonder why such a fine southern family is this far north?” the sheriff asked good-naturedly.

“We enjoy camping,” the Hound said brusquely.

“You don’t look like you enjoy much,” Tormund replied, raising a sharp eyebrow at the gruff marine, “Were you born mean, or do you just hate Wildlings?”

“I don’t give a shit about Wildlings,” the Hound said glancing at the sheriff and scowling, “Its gingers I hate.”

“Gingers are beautiful, we’re kissed by fire,” Tormund laughed, “just like you, I think.”

The Hound sneered at the sheriff, walking away. Suspecting Tormund Giantsbane was more intelligent than he was letting on, and his friendly banter was only a ruse to gather information.

The Sheriff wasn’t daunted, hurrying to catch up with the gruff marine.

“Where you injured in Sothoryos?” he asked.

The Hound stopped and scowled down at the red haired sheriff. He defiantly was smarter than he let on.

“I can spot former military from a mile away, I served myself,” Tormund answered the Hound’s unasked question, “What were you, Army? Navy? No, if I had to guess…Marines.”

Sandor growled down at the country sheriff with throaty, “hmfft.”

“I spent some time in Sothoryos myself,” the sheriff continued uninvited, “the 31th Infantry out of Eastwatch by-the-Sea.”

The Hound stopped, “You saw action at Wyvern Bay?”

“Aye,” the Wildling replied shaking his head, “bloody mess, was all that was. Where did you serve?”

“105th,” The Hound replied without thinking.

“105th, why that’s Special Operations…the Raiders!” Tormund again raised a sharp eyebrow at the Hound, “Now what is a former black-ops operative, doing all the way out here with two young’uns in tow?”

Before Clegane could answer a small voice spoke up, “Are we being accused of some crime sheriff?” Arya asked sweetly.

“No, no, little lady, of course not, I’m just a curious old country sheriff,” Tormund replied tipping his hat and strolling away whistling.

“So much for not breaking cover,” Arya snickered at the startled marine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are Love


	8. Songs of the Frostfangs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team reunites in Last Hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Danyel for help picking out the song, Two Steps Behind by Def Leppard and TonyaS for helping choose the Penguins identity. I went with Roose Bolton because I wanted a darker Penguin, who is smart enough to have control of Gotham's underworld.

 

Chapter Eight  
Songs of the Frostfangs

Music drifted on the wind, as ethereal and haunting as the morning mist rolling off the ridges of the Frostfangs.

“Walk away, if you want to  
It's okay, if you need to  
You can run but you can never hide  
From the shadow that's creepin' up beside you”  
“There's a magic runnin' through your soul  
But you can't have it all,”

The song, echoed off the canyon wall, the sound of electric guitars and the lingering voice of the singer, both out of place and ethereal in the crisp mountain air.

Following the haunting music, Brienne and Jaime left the canyon behind and made their way onto a high plateau. A single red brick cottage and small barn stood on the rocky tor. The music seemed to be emanating from a small radio on the cottage’s porch.

“Take the time  
To think about it  
Just walk the line, you know you just can't fight it  
Take a look around you'll see what you can find  
Like the fire that's burnin' up inside me.”

Jaime made sure his gloves were in place, hiding his phantom hand, before they approached the small house.

A woman, wearing a brown work coat with a faux fur collar, heavy boots, and a brown trapper hat jammed down on her shaggy brown hair, rounded the corner of the single story cottage, pausing for only a second, before leveling a shotgun at Jaime and Brienne.

“I want no trouble,” the woman said sternly.

“No, no trouble,” Brienne said raising her hands, “We were…camping by the river, when men attacked our campsite…”

“Thenns,” the woman scowled and spat on the ground.

“Who or what is a Thenn?” Jaime asked.

“A bunch of militant assholes,” The woman snarled.

The woman seemed to consider them for a moment. They did look haunted, like they had suffered through an attack, their clothes were torn and they were both wounded.

Lowering her rifle slightly, she said shaking her head, “The Frostfangs are not a safe place for camping.”

“My wife and I enjoy a little adventure,” Jaime smiled roguishly, “it gets our juices flowing.”

To prove his claim Jaime wrapped his arm around Brienne’s waist and pulled her close, she stiffened in his arms and a blush crept up her face, he smiled at her reaction, thankful she didn’t push him away.

“Can you help us?” Brienne pleaded trying to ignore Jaime’s grip around her waist, “We were separated from our friends and we haven’t’ eaten in two days.”

“Yes, of course,” The woman lowering her gun, “I’m Osha by the way.”

“Thank you, Osha,” Brienne sighed in relief, “I’m Brienne…Brienne Storm and this is…my husband Jaime.”

Osha cottage was small but well kept, they sat at a plain wooden table in the kitchen, eating sandwiches and drinking thin coffee.

“I haven’t much I’m afraid, I’ve been meaning to get into town to pick up supplies,” Osha apologized, “I can drive us down tomorrow and you can call your people.”

Jaime dug into his sandwich with abandon, listening as Osha and Brienne chatted about life beyond the wall.

Apparently, a few months ago people had begun to disappear, including Osha’s husband Bruni. The county Sheriff believed the Thenns were somehow responsible, although a search of their compound had found no evidence of foul play. The Thenns even claimed they had also lost people mysteriously.

As the sun went down, Osha pulled out a hide-a-bed from the couch in the living room, and gave them pillows and blankets.

“Sorry I don’t have a guest room,” she said, “We are not as fancy as you all are, down south.”

“Its fine,” Brienne smiled, “we thank you for all your hospitality.”

After Osha retired to her bedroom, Jaime sat down on the bed and pulled off his boots, before stripping down to his small clothes.

“What do you think you were doing?” Brienne gasped, “…and why did you tell her we were married?”

“…and I should have told her, what?” Jaime smiled smugly, “Hi, we are a couple of convicts from Castle Black, on a secret mission to spy on the Night King, a mythical supervillain set on destroying the world.”

Brienne rolled her eyes.

“Oh she would, for sure have helped us then.” Jaime snickered sarcastically, crawling under the covers, “come to bed wife.”

Brienne sighed taking off her boots and crawling under the covers. Keeping her cloths on, and turning her back to the Kingslayer.

“Stay on your side of the bed,” she growled a warning before curling up into a tight ball.

“As long as you stay on your side…wife.” Jaime teased, smiling as he imaged the blush that would assuredly be spreading across her face.

Over the last few days, Jaime had found he enjoyed teasing the wench, and making her blush. The rosy glow would start at her cheeks and migrate down her neck, disappearing under her black uniform. It was adorable, and Jaime liked to imagine how far down the rosy blush went.

Brienne lay on her side for a long while, looking out of the living room window. The Northern Lights rippled across the night sky, vivid blues and vibrant greens, merging, violently ripping apart, twirling around each other as if sparring, only to come together once again.

“That’s us,” Jaime said from behind her.

“What is?” she asked glancing back at him.

“The Northern Lights,” Jaime said, resting on his elbow and smiled down at her.

“It’s just the reaction of the magnetosphere and the solar winds,” she relied dully. Not daring to look behind her, she could sense his closeness.

“…and you would know this, because you are Empress Wenchlexia?” he chuckled in response.

Brienne snorted at the remark, turning around she gasped to find him smiling down at her.

Trying to ignore the handsome face hoovering over her, she asked, “Should we really be alerting the local authorities?”

The mission was supposed to be secret. They weren’t sure, how their marine guard dog or the woman holding his leash would feel about the involvement of the local sheriff.

“We will just keep up the story, that we are a married couple on an innocent camping trip,” Jaime replied.

Brienne didn’t like that idea, but she nodded her head.

“From town, we should be able to call Castle Black,” Jaime said with a yawn, “report to Director Tyrell what happened, and get instructions. Just maybe she won’t blow our heads off.”

-oOo-

Something woke Jaimie in the middle of the night. Brienne had rolled over in her sleep and was now resting her head on his shoulder, her long arm draped across his chest. He signed, enjoying the fell of their bodies pressed together.

However, the wench’s encroachment on his territory wasn’t what had awoken him. Something else, something sinister had pulled him from a deep sleep and he couldn’t put his finger on just what.

Jaime wrapped his arms around Brienne, pulling her closer. Nuzzling his nose in her hair, as he wondered what it was the dragged him from his dreams. Not that he objected, as another medieval nightmare had taken control of his subconscious mind.

He shuddered as he remembered the dream. _A bear?_ Jaime had never seen a bear except in the zoo in Lannisport when he was a child. In the mountains though, maybe they would see a bear.

Suddenly a loud crash rang through the small cottage, followed by a woman screaming.

Brienne was instantly awake, untangling herself from Jaime’s arms, a questioning look on her face as Jaime jump up and flipped on the lamp, flooding the small room with a blinding glow.

 _Cra-aack,_ a gunshot exploded, and Osha, wearing only a long red flannel nightshirt, stumbled out of her bedroom. The shadow of a man appeared in the dark doorframe, as Osha reloaded her gun.

“Bruni!” Osha gasped when she raised the weapon to take another shot at the mysterious man who staggered into the light of the living room.

Cold blue eyes turned to look hauntingly at Osha, his expressionless grey face, not recognizing his own name or the woman who had been his wife. His skin hung loosely, his clothes tattered and his dark brown hair a mat of snarls. Black hands reached toward Osha’s neck as he stumbled into the living room.

Osha fired again and Bruni flew backwards crashing into the wall, leaving a bloodless dirty streak as he slid down to the floor. Brienne reached Osha, trying to pull the shaken woman away from the grizzly scene.

“Bruni,” Osha gasped through tears, “he tried to kill me.”

To their horror, the creature that was Bruni slowly rose to his feet, gnashing yellow teeth, a large hole in his gut where Osha had shot him.

The abomination hobbled toward them. Pushing Osha behind her, Brienne punched the creature in the jaw and then again. An unsettling crack and Bruni’s jaw dislodged, hanging loosely on decaying skin.

The undead Wildling teetered but didn’t fall. Cold blue eyes stared at the two women, its jaw hanging loosely as it continued to lumber forward.

Jaime’s right hand flashed, shifting and rippling with phantom energy, and forming into a long sword. Swinging the phantom blade, Jaime cut the staggering creature in half.

“Seven Hells,” Jaime gasped as the creature’s legs twitched and its upper body continued to crawl toward them.

Jaime willed the phantom sword to ignite into flame. The thrashing creature crashed into the flaming sapphire blade, and ignited into a ball of fire, crashing into the couch. Flames quickly spread from the couch to the covers, eventually igniting the curtains.

Brienne pulled Osha from the burning building as Jaime grabbed their boots and clothing and followed them outside into the cold night air.

-oOo-

The full moon rose above White Harbor. During the day, the city was a modern metropolis, at night, the city became violent and crime infested, it was nicknamed Gotham by the more unsavory members of society.

The eerie glow of the moon, casts dark shadows across the streets of Gotham. The air filled with the sound of laughter and the roar of engines, from far below on the street.

It was a slow Sunday night. The Black Wolf had stopped a purse-snatcher and an attempted break-in. Ramsey Bolton the Clown Prince of Crime had remained silent, probably planning his next sinister attack on the city.

Jon could have gone to his aunts for diner, but Jon knew he wasn’t welcome. Catelyn Stark would have of course acted pleasant, northern hospitality at its finest, but underneath she would simmer in barely contained contempt.

“What are you playing at?” Jon asked the dark figure that tried unsuccessfully to creep up behind him.

“How do you always know?” replied a light silky female voice.

The Black Wolf turned and saw her, the Dragon Queen, small and sleek, her long silver hair hung down her back. Her dark black, skin hugging leather custom and mask failed to hide her beauty.

“You stole three dragon eggs from the natural history museum.” Jon stated, not asked.

The small thief shrugged, walking seductively over to the Black Wolf. Raising a small hand, she caressed his face.

“Now, if you could prove that,” she cooed, “we wouldn’t be standing here.”

“I thought we agreed,” Jon said curtly, “you would leave White Harbor, ply your trade in Essos.”

“What I want, isn’t in Essos,” she hummed raising up on her toes to kiss the Wolf’s stern face.

“Daenerys,” the Black Wolf growled, grabbing her hand and forcing her away from him, “If you break the law in my city -,”

“Yes, yes,” Daenerys Stormborn laughed, turning away and walking to the edge of the rooftop, “you will apprehend me and turn me over to dear old Uncle Nedd.”

Jon ignored her thinly veiled threat. He knew she would never act on it. Even though she was a notorious thief, she cared about the lives of people. In her own way, she even cared about him.

“Tell me then,” Jon growled at her retreating back, “why did you come back?”

Placing a delicate hand on her hip, and turning back, the Dragon Queen considered him seriously.

“There are rumors…whispers in the dark, in the underworld,” she warned, “something evil, deadly has reawakened in the realms of man.”

“What are these whispers?” Jon asked sternly, he loved her but hated that she was being so cryptic, why couldn’t she just tell him what she had heard?

“Talk to the Lord of Gotham’s underworld, talk to Roose Bolton,” Daenerys replied, before leaping off the roof and disappearing into the night.

-oOo-

The town of Last Hope existence solely depended on the hot springs that warmed the valley. Unlike the desolation of the highlands, the valley was warm, tall conifer and weirwood trees filled the gorge hiding the small village under a blanket of growth.

The small northern town was an idealistic setting, a small gravel main street lined with a raised sidewalk. The general store and dinner, the school, the post office and the town hall, where the jail was located filled the main street. At the end of the lane an ancient weirwood tree stood, its sorrowful yet hopeful face was the reason for the town’s haunting name.

Spreading out behind the main street several small homes nestled under tall conifers. Although most of the inhabitants of the region lived outside of town, on small homesteads scattered throughout the valley and in the mountains.

Tormund Giantsbane the county Sheriff exited Last Hope’s small general store and diner holding a steaming cup of coffee. Taking a small sip, his mind was elsewhere, it was on the three visitors, the large former marine and the two young people, who were defiantly not his children.

Something about their story didn’t add up. Something suspicious was going on with those three, and he intended to find out what.

Distracted by his thoughts, at first he didn’t notice the ATV as it roared to a stop in front of him. Most of the Free-Folk drove ATV’s as the sturdy vehicles were the only way to travel over the rough dirt roads in the valley. Used to the freedom of the open country some of Free-Folk didn’t obey the traffic laws while in town.

The driver was probably a teenager, Wildling youths out for a joyride in someone’s borrowed ATV. Tormund would drag the teens back to their parents, and let them deal with the punishment.

To his surprise, the driver wasn’t a mischievous teenager. Osha jumped out, wearing only her trapper hat, work boots and a flannel night shirt. Dried tears had carved paths in her ash covered her face.

“Sheriff ! Tormund!-” Osha cried as rushed toward him.

Out of the corner of this eye, Tormund noticed the three southern visitors, the large marine and his two young companions, stepped out of the diner, curiously watching the scene unfold.

Tormund was about to ask what had happened, something definitely wasn’t right, he had known Osha since they were teenagers, joyriding in borrowed ATVs. She was a hard woman and not prone to panicking.

Suddenly the large former marine roared, jumping off the raised sidewalk and into the street.

“Kingslayer!” the gruff man bellowed.

Another stranger had just leapt off the back of Osha’s ATV. The golden haired man looked startled as the marine barrels down on him.

Wedging his forearm against the man’s neck, and pinning him to the side of the vehicle, the marine growled, “Tell me, why I don’t just break your neck right now.”

Instead of cringing away from the violence, the large marine’s two young companions seemed overjoyed by the developing conflict.

“Where’s Brienne?” the younger man snarled, “What have you done to her?

“Stop!” a tall woman shouted as she exited the vehicle.

Tormund could only stop and stare, his mouth hanging open, dumbfounded. The large woman was amazing, tall and strong.

Tormund had remained single his entire life, even though he had several children by different women. A situation that would be a scandal in the south, they were not restricted by such social conventions this far north.

The sheriff had never thought about settling down with just one woman, until now.

“He didn’t hurt me! He saved me!” the tall woman cried tugging on the marines arm with enough force, he dropped the golden haired man to the ground.

The handsome man rubbed his neck as he stood up, “well it’s nice to see you again too, sergeant -.”

“Shut up, not here,” the tall man growled.

The large marine roughly yanked on the blond man’s shirt and dragged him off toward the end of town, the big woman and the two youths followed along behind them.

Tormund could only stare after them awestruck. The southerners stopped at the end of the lane, near the weirwood, arguing loudly. Tormund could only make out a few words… Biter…Nights Watch…the mission….Tyrell, something was defiantly going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are Love.


	9. Northern Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone recognizes Anguy's story with that of Daniel West's Reverse Flash, it because it is. The suicide Squad, Monsters series when RF tells Harley Quinn his story was haunting.

Chapter Nine  
Northern Lights

Tormund sat at the counter of the Last Hope diner, nursing a cup of coffee and ignoring the pile of wolverine guts, a northern delicacy that lay on his plate. His mind was elsewhere, something about the big woman was familiar, although he couldn’t place where he had seen her before. 

_Maybe in my dreams,_ he snorted to himself shaking his head as he dug into the wolverine brisket. Anyway, it wasn’t his problem anymore, Ygritte would have already flown the southerners down to Casters Keep, the largest city north of the Wall, and from there the woman and her companions would be able to catch a train south. 

Tormund knew it was pointless to fantasize about the large woman. Osha had told him, when he took her statement, that Brienne and Jaime Storm were a married couple. They didn’t seem happily married, they bickered constantly and the woman’s friends seemed to hate him. 

It was strange, but then again southerners were strange, Tormund had dealt with too many southerners during his years in Army Intelligence. He didn’t envy Mance Rayder having to deal with them on a daily basis, as the MP of the far north in the House of Commons.

Until the southerners had left, Tormund had played the role of the good-natured country sheriff. The southern assumption that all Wildlings were dimwitted dupes, had worked well for him while he was in the army. It worked well is his role as sheriff, when occasionally he had to deal with southern folk. 

People often let things slip, believing Tormund too much the country bumpkin to comprehend their plots and motives. The tight-lipped marine and his companions had let very little slip, they had seen through his act, especially the girl. 

Tormund didn’t miss that the tall marine had called Jaime Storm, Kingslayer and the golden haired man had called the tall man, sergeant. He was right about the giant he was defiantly military, although the rest of his party acted more like a rogue’s gallery, surely and undisciplined. 

The bunch of southern fools had survived an attack by the Thenns was, by itself, surprising. Their one casualty, a man the marine had identified as Fred Rivers, a fake name if Tormund ever heard one. 

None of Fred Rivers’ so-called friends seemed overly distraught about his death. How the stranger had died was suspicious, the scorch marks on his back was like nothing Tormund had ever seen, and he had seen a lot, at Wyvern Bay.

Tormund shook his head. He needed to concentrate on the problem at hand. Osha’s recollection of the attack was troubling, she claimed Bruni continued to attack even after she shot him in the gut. That was odd in itself, Bruni and Osha had been a couple since high school. He knew Bruni wouldn’t have just packed up and left Osha. He would never even think of hurting her, nor would Osha willingly harm Bruni. 

The strange disappearances, loving husbands attacking their wives, the Thenns being more agitate than usual. It was a mystery. Tormund hated mysteries and knew he had to figure it out. At least he didn’t have to worry about those strange southern folk any longer and good riddance to them.

“Jorunn…coffee please,” a familiar voice called to the waitress, startling Tormund.

Tormund looked over at the red haired woman leaning against the counter. She wore a brown leather flight jacket, baggy khaki cargo pants and combat boots. 

“Ygritte shouldn’t you be half-way to Caster’s Keep with those southern gits?” Tormund asked surprised to see the young pilot still in Last Hope.

“They never showed,” the pilot replied with a shrug, and leaned back against the counter, “my plane was fueled and ready to go, I even bothered to file a flight plan with Casters.”

Jorunn arrived with a mug of coffee handing it Ygritte, “more sheriff?” she asked holding up a steaming pot.

Tormund covered his mug with his hand and shook his head. After Jorunn had hurried away to help other customers, Tormund turned back to Ygritte.

“What do you mean they didn’t show?” Tormund asked, “Where are they?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Ygritte chuckled and turned to Tormund, “I checked at old Dag’s place, where they were staying, just to see if they were running late. He said they left early this morning.”

-oOo-

“This is who I am,” Jaime said gruffly trying to avoid the young woman’s sapphire blue eyes.

“But you were something difference, once,” Brienne wouldn’t let up, “can’t you just try to get along .”

All morning, the Hound had set the pace for the small party as they marched up the mountain. Behind the large marine, Arya and Anguy had walked silently, occasionally casting intimidating glances back at Jaime, as he trudged up the mountain next to Brienne.

Sandor Clegane had spared Jaime’s life, after learning of Biter’s betrayal. The two youngest members of the party still didn’t trust the Kingslayer, but they at least seemed to tolerate his presence on the team.

When they stopped for lunch, the Hound wandered off to check his GPS and report their position to director Tyrell.

The Frostfangs rose before them, fighting the grey sky for dominance. The crisp wind rushed down from the mountains and bit at Jaime’s face. The Kingslayer wrapped the crimson scarf he had bought at the general store in Last Hope around his face, it took away very little of the chill. He had only bought the bright red scarf because Brienne said it looked good on him.

Brienne grabbed Jaime’s hand and dragged him over to where Anguy and Ayra were sitting and talking.

“I wanted do better…” Anguy was telling another of his stories.

Jaime snorted. 

“My dad wasn’t a bad man.” Anguy said glaring at Jaime, “He only turned to drink after he lost his job when the Lannister factory in Stone Mills shut down.” 

The young archer shook his head and sighed.

“His drinking tore our family apart,” Anguy said, “I ran away from home at seventeen and fell in with a bad crowd. I became a small time hood, I didn’t care…about myself or anyone else.”

“What changed?” Brienne asked.

“The Brotherhood found me and showed me a different way,” Anguy replied with a half-smile, “Showed me that I could do some good for the people of the Riverlands. That I didn’t need to be a villain.”

“…and you aren’t a villain anymore?” Jaime asked, for the first time he didn't snort or scoff at the younger man.

“I don’t’ know,” Anguy answered, “But I know I don’t want to be, Maybe that’s enough.”

“I don’t think it is.” Jaime answered. 

Brienne reached over and laid her hand over Jaime’s the look in her eyes, telling him she didn’t believe him.

As the sun sunk below the ridges of the Frostfangs, they didn’t dare set up camp or light a fire. Just over the ridge, the Thenn Compound blocked the pass into the mountains, which led to their destination, the lair of the Night King. 

The Hound had sent Arya ahead, she could move silently, scout the terrain, and look for a possible route to bypass the Thenn encampment into the mountains. 

The young woman suddenly appeared out of the shadows, startling everyone. 

“And?” the Hound asked.

“The Compound is heavily guarded,” she replied, “they seem on edge, and there are sentries guarding the pass.”

Drawing a map of the Thenn Compound in the dirt, Arya marked the sentry positions, “here, here and here.” 

“That’s odd,” Jaime said, studying the roughly drawn map.

“How so?” asked Brienne.

“They’re watching the pass,” the Hound grunted, “not their southern perimeter. Sheriff Giantsbane could march right down their gullet, with a hundred deputies.”

“Whatever they are scared of,” Jaime sneered in contempt, “it isn’t our fine sheriff.”

Jaime and the Wildling Sheriff had taken an immediate dislike of each other. Jaime didn’t like the way the sheriff stared at Brienne, as if she was a piece of meat.

Brienne had tried to explain away Tormund’s behavior by saying, it was only because he was the sheriff and it was his duty to watch them. Jaime wasn’t buying that explanation, and made sure his wench was never alone with the sheriff.

“The Night King,” Brienne gasped, bringing Jaime’s mind back to the present, “they’re afraid of the Night King.”

“Well he is our mission,” The Hound replied, “and we need to get around these assholes, to find out what he is up to.”

They all looked north, the northern lights rippled through the sky above their destination, the lair of the Night King.

“We will follow this route around the compound and into the pass,” the marine said, using a stick to draw a path west of the settlement. “We will have to avoid the sentries here and here. It’s dark, with luck we will get through unnoticed.”

-oOo-

Tormund’s office in city hall was dark and dusty. Most of his files were old fashioned, police reports scratched onto paper and stored in file cabinets. The sheriff didn’t need a large computerized database because there wasn’t much crime in the valley, mostly drunken brawls and misdemeanors.

There was a computer in his office, where Tormund could assess the national criminal database. The computer sat mostly unused, expect for the occasional game of Candy Crunch. 

When criminals did come to the far north, they came to hide. In reality, unused to the fierce winters, they came to die. Tormund usually didn’t find their corpses until the spring thaw. 

The computer chirped as it booted up. Searching the national database for the names the southern strangers had giving him proved useless. More than likely, they had given him false names.

Tormund typed in the name he heard the large marine call the golden haired man, Jaime Storm - Kingslayer. The criminal database flashed a warning, - **Danger - Do Not Engage - Contact the National Security Agency.**

Tormund leaned back and stared at the computer. Could Jaime Storm possibly be some infamous criminal, perhaps even one of those meta-humans? Tormund scoffed, the man hadn’t seemed very intimidating. 

The heavy orchestral theme music for the National News startled Tormund from his brooding. Glancing over at the television, that Tormund kept on only for background noise. 

“This is WBC Two World News. I’m Roz Hollister with the headlines at six o’clock.” The beautiful red haired anchorwoman looked straight into the camera and smiled drolly.

Tormund looked around for the remote. WBC Two was terrible news, all fluff and celebrity scandals.

“Athletes are gathering at Harrenhal to begin training for next year’s Valyrian Games…,” the news anchor droned on.

Tormund sat up straight, remembering where he had seen the tall woman before. Brienne Tarth had won gold at the Valyrian Games four years ago. 

There was something else. Didn’t he remember hearing she had been involved in some sort of scandal, the murder of her employer? If she had escaped from prison, it would make sense that the rest of her companions were also escaped prisoners. 

Tormund typed, Brienne Tarth, into the database. The system flashed a warning, **\- Classified -** his computer promptly shut down.

Tormund scowled there was one person he could turn, picking up his phone he typed in a number for Kings Landing.

“Tormund!” the voice on the other end of the line said gravely, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Edd, I could use a favor,” Tormund replied, “I have some unsavory characters up here. I was wondering if you could look them up in the National Security database.” 

Edd Tollett was one of Tormund’s friends from his time in Army Intelligence and one of the few southerners he could tolerate. Edd worked for the Intelligence Service in Kings Landing and his high security clearance should be enough to bypass the block on Brienne Tarth’s file. 

Tollett scoffed dryly, “I guess you can’t really look it up yourself, because you don’t’ have electricity up there.”

Tormund rolled his eyes. Many people south of the Wall seemed to believe the Free-Folk still lived in the middle ages. He knew Edd Tollett didn’t really think that, it was only the never-ending joke between them.

He could hear his friend mumbling on the other end of the line and he searched for information on Tormund’s mysterious visitors.

Suddenly the line went silence, “Edd?” 

“This isn’t just classified. It’s high up, higher than even my security clearance.” Tollett finally replied, “Have you heard of the Nights Watch?”

“Of course, all young Free-Folk know about the Crows, they kill little Wildlings in their sleep, if they aren’t good and eat their vegetables,” Tormund chuckled at the childhood boogiemen, “If they ever existed, they were disbanded centuries ago-.”

“Apparently not,” Tollett interrupted Tormund’s musing, “this all seems to lead back to an organization called the Nights Watch, and you need a higher security clearance than I have...”

Tormund laced his fingers together and tried to think. Whom did he know with a higher clearance? Maybe he could call up Mance Rayder. The MP for the far north might be able to unlock some doors.

“…I’ve never seen a clearance this high before,” Edd continued, dashing Tormund’s hopes, “the only person with this kind of clearance is Varys himself.”

Well that probably ruled out Rayder. As the Member of Parliament, he could start an investigation. Maybe eventually dig up some dirt. All that would take months, and time was something Tormund didn’t have, the southerners were here now, and up to something.

“I’ll dig around, see what I can find,” Edd volunteered.

“I don’t want to put you in any risk.”

“There is something suspicious going on here, and it’s my job to investigate the suspicious.” Edd chuckled dryly, “give me a few days. I should have something for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are Love


	10. Gotham Knights

Gotham Knights  
Chapter 10

There was an air of mystery and hidden secrets surrounding the grand mansion. Winterfell rose on the horizon, the winged manor spread out on a wide plain like a giant albatross on the sea. The neatly manicured lawn swept out from the tall iron-gate. A short distance away, the ruins of the ancient castle stood forgotten and haunted in a grove of trees.

“Tell me, why are we here again?” Meera Reed scowled over at her younger brother as she drove up the long drive to the great house. 

“I saw Branson Stark in a green-vision.” The young man replied as he gazed out of the window toward the ancient castle. 

Thousands of years ago, that castle was the site of one of the greatest battles of the Long Night. Know it lay abandoned and mostly forgotten.

“…and that was enough to drive half-way across Westeros during finals week?” Meera scowled, “I better not flunk Art History because of this little road trip.”

Jojen Reed answered sluggishly, “Brandon Stark is the Three-Eyed-Raven.”

“You are sure he is the one?” Meera asked doubtfully. 

“Yes.” 

“Father isn’t going to be happy we skipped out of classes.”

“He will understand.”

Jojen had inherited his green-sight from their father Howland Reed. It had passed from father to son in the Reed family for countless generations.

Greenseers were as different from the new super-powered Meta-humans, as summer was from winter. The green-sight was an old and ancient power. Meta-humans had only began to pop up with alarming frequency over the last decade mostly near Kings Landing. 

Stepping up to the grand double doors, the young man pulled on the ostentatious doorknocker, in the shape of a giant dire wolf, a large brass circle hanging from its wide jaw. The door shuddered slightly the heavy brass knocker slammed down.

“These rich types don’t believe in doorbells?” Meera chuckled.

A moment later, an older man with short grey hair and kind intelligent eyes opened the door. He wore a stiff grey suit and a thin necklace of Maester’s links. 

“Jojen and Meera Reed,” Jojen introduced himself and his sister, with a wide grin, “I believe Brandon Stark is expecting us.”

“Of course,” the man smiled fondly at the two young people, “follow me.”

“You’re a Maester?” Meera asked with a scoff, “Working as a butler? It doesn’t bode well for our employment prospects after we finish our education at the Citadel.”

“I am Maester Luwin,” the older man nodded, unfazed by the young woman’s comment, “I work for Jon Stark, as an advisor in financial and legal matters, amongst other things. Master Stark has asked me to advise young Bran during this meeting.”

“…and opening doors is one of those other things?” Meera replied.

“Master Stark is a very private. There are no servants in the mansion after six o’clock. When we have company after hours,” The old Maester chuckled, “opening doors is everyone’s responsibility.”

Maester Luwin directed the siblings through the entryway, around a grand marble stairway, which lead to the second story. Large tapestries of dire wolves and dragons covered the walls. Overhead a magnificent crystal chandelier twinkled and filed the large room with prisms of light. 

They followed the Maester into a small library. “So this Brandon Stark can’t open doors?” Meera scoffed.

“…oh-,” Meera gasped as she spotted the young man in a wheel chair sitting near the fireplace, her face turning red. 

Bran nodded to his guest as they entered, “You look rather young to be an Acolyte the Citadel.” 

Jojen has learned to ignore comment about his youthful appearance. He looked much younger than his actual age of twenty-two years.

“I’m Jojen Reed, this is my sister Meera.” Jojen turned and motioned to Meera, who stood silently near the door, “We’ve come a long way to find you Brandon Stark, and we have much farther to go.”

Bran motioned to a chair near the fire. Jojen sat down and clasped his hands together. 

Luwin directed Meera into the room and to an ornate chair near her brother, before he sat down next to Bran.

“You have the sight,” Jojen stated, looking intently at Bran, “you are also a warg and can enter the heads of animals.”

“Only when I sleep,” Bran replied a little confused, how could the young scholar know about his visions? “I am interested in-,”

“The Three-Eyed-Raven,” Jojen finished his statement with a nod, “and the history of the undead, in Westeroes.”

“You have the sight too?” Bran questioned, “That is how you were able find the ancient sources for your research.”

Jojen nodded a far-away look in his eyes.

“What else have you seen?” Bran asked.

“The only thing that matters,” Jojeen answered, “you.”

“This sight,” Bran enquired, “is it a Meta power?”

“No, the green-sight is ancient,” Jojen said looking into the fire slowly burning in the hearth, “older than Meta-humans, older then the technological enhancements some heroes and villains have added to their bodies.”

“I need to find out about the zombies, you wrote about in your thesis,” Bran said, as interesting as Jojen Reed’s tale of ancient superpowers were it wasn’t the reason Bran had asked to speak with the scholar.

“Wights,” Jojen corrected, “they are creatures created from ancient magic.”

“How do you defeat them?” Bran asked.

“I don’t know,” Jojen said turning back to Bran.

Bran’s heart sank, yet another dead end. 

“You have to go to him,” Jojen said cryptically, “you have to ask him.”

“Who?” 

“The Three-Eyed-Raven,” Jojen replied.

-oOo-

The rain had turned the streets of White harbor dark and gloomy. The Black Wolf looked down at the nightclub below, packed even on a Monday night, with the idle youth of Gotham.

The large red X above the door was the only sign, identifying the club as the Flayed Man Nightclub. The logo was the ancient sigil of House Bolton, which had ceased to exist. 

The Boltons, once Wardens of the North, had died out during the Long Night. That was until eighty years ago, when Roose Bolton’s grandfather Domeric Snow had learned they were actually descended from the ancient Bolton line. There were far too many Snows in the north, most of them unrelated. The name was once given to high-born bastards. People were more enlightened now of course, but the name still held a certain stigma. That was one of the reasons Domeric Snow had changed the family name back to Bolton.

The Flayed Man Nightclub was only a front for Roose Bolton’s White Harbor operations. If criminal activity happened in the city, the Lord of Gotham’s underworld either controlled it or knew about it. 

The Black Wolf, glided silently onto the roof of the club. The skylight popped open easily enough and Jon crawled inside. He had confronted Bolton enough times, to know the route to the crime lord’s office. 

The underworld boss was clever and had most of City Hall and a large portion of the Police force in his pocket. No matter what Jon’s uncle had threw at the man, nothing seemed to stick.

“Black Wolf,” a sinister voice announced.

Jon turned holding a dragonglass throwing claw in his hand, to find Steelshanks, one of Bolton’s henchmen emerging from the shadows. The thickset men raised his hand, his body rippled and turned to steel. It sometimes seemed like Meta-humans were popping up everywhere. 

“The Boss is expecting you,” the man said motioning the Black Wolf forward.

Jon nodded and allowed Steelshanks to escort him to Roose Bolton.

“Wolf,” Bolton scowled as Jon entered his lavishly decorated office.

Gotham’s underworld boss sat behind a large mahogany desk, his cool blue eyes studying the Black Wolf intently. 

“I have been expecting you,” Bolton continued, “I assume you want information about the Targaryen shipment you…confiscated from the docks last week.”

“Yours?” Jon grumbled.

“Oh No,” Bolton replied, “Not mine, but if it enters Gotham, I know about it.”

“There was some sort of creatures in those crates,” Jon growled, “what is Baelish up to?”

Bolton actually raised his eyebrows in surprise, before he pressed his thin pale lips together in understanding, “Baelish is shipping biomaterials-.”

“Zombies,” Jon interrupted. 

“I know it must come natural to a man who dresses like a wolf,” Bolton laughed, “but don’t be so overdramatic, Baelish has been shipping experimental biomaterials.” 

“There are rumors in the underworld,” the Black Wolf grumbled, “of an ancient evil that has reawakened-.”

“Criminals are a superstitious lot,” Bolton scoffed.

“Is there a connection between Baelish’s ‘biomaterials’ and these dark rumors?” Jon asked.

Roose Bolton looked up at the Black Wolf, “there is a base in the Frostfangs, owned by a Meta-human calling himself the Night King,” Bolton scoffed at the absurdity of the ancient title, “he is supplying the…biomaterials to Baelish.”

“What else do you know?” Jon growled.

“Not much,” Roose replied, “I sent my best men to investigate, they haven’t returned.”

Jon pressed his lips together and turned to leave, when Bolton called him back, “Wolf, now that I have helped you, I believe you owe me a favor.”

“I won’t do your dirty work,” Jon snarled.

“And I wouldn’t expect it,” Roose Bolton replied coolly, “The Joker is planning something, I want you to find out what it is, and stop whatever mischief he is up to.”

“He is your son,” Jon said darkly, “why don’t you just ask him?”

“As if he would tell me,” Bolton sighed, “Ramsey enjoys nothing more than to spread chaos throughout the city. Chaos is not good for my…business interests.”

-oOo-

The moon, hidden beneath a bank of clouds cast the mountains into darkness, hiding Task Force X as they crept around the Thenn Compound. Just as Arya had described there were very few sentries south of the settlement.

The compound had been easy, the pass wasn’t. Thenn patrols filled the narrow gorge. They avoided the first few sentries. However, it wasn’t long before, surrounded by Thenns they had no option but to surrender to the heavily armed militia.

The mountain men bound their hands and forced them to their knees in front the leader of the Thenns. The bald man, who introduced himself as Styr Grimm, had raised scars lacing across this face, like some reject from a low budget historical drama. He would look the part of an ancient warlord, if it weren’t for his modern clothing.

“In the old days, we would kill intruders on our lands…,” Styr paused for affect, licking his lips and snarling, “…and eat them.”

Reaching down the leader of the Thenns grabbed the Hound’s face, leering down at the large marine, “why you look half cooked already,” he chuckled.

Standing back up Grimm looked at each of the prisoners, “Why were you trying to get through the pass?” 

“We enjoy scenic mountain views,” Jaime scoffed. 

The Kingslayer received a slap across the face as a response. 

“Are you responsible for the disappearance of my people?” Styr glowered down at the prisoners, as he walked back and forth in front of them, scratching his face, as he considered his captives.

“No, I don’t believe you are responsible,” the Thenn leader pondered, “More like, you are government operatives. Come to spy on us?”

“Do we look like government operatives to you?” Anguy laughed. 

“He does,” Styr pointed at the Hound. “The rest of you? I don’t know. Lock them up with the other one. We still have to guard the pass tonight, I’ll interrogate them in the morning” 

Several Gruff men dragged the captives to a shed. Another prisoner, tied-up in the back of the dark room, his steel blue eyes looked up weakly as the Thenn guards shoved the new prisoners inside. 

The bound man wore the black Night Watch uniform, although unlike the Hound, he had military insignia identifying him as a captain in the Royal Navy. His hair was dark and he at least a weeks’ worth of growth on his face.

After the Thenns left, the Hound looked over at the tied man, “You with one of the other infiltration teams sent to investigate the Night King?”

The man only stared ahead and said dully, “Captain Bronn Blackwater, UKW Navy, serial number 554-.”

“No need Captain,” the Sergeant cut him off, “Tyrell sent us.”

Bronn studied the large marine, “The rains of Castamere-.”

“Fall on the sands of -.” The Hound began.

“Really? You two are just a couple of secret agents aren’t you?” Jaime laughed the situation would be ridiculous if they weren’t in mortal danger. 

“Shut up Kingslayer,” Clegane growled.

Bronn did laugh at Jaime’s remark, a friendly good-natured laugh. Although Bronn and Clegane were both military, they two men couldn’t be more different. 

The Hound narrowed his eyes, “so you never made it to the objective?”

“We made it alright,” Bronn answered, “after infiltrating the bastard’s base, we gathered intel-.” 

“What happened to the rest of your team?”

“We were discovered.” Bronn replied, “My entire team was wiped out by an army of…I don’t know what the fuck they were, zombies maybe. I was the only one who made it out alive.”

The Captain explained how he managed to escape with surveillance pictures and files downloaded from the Night Kings computer, saved on a flash drive. He swallowed the drive before the Thenns captured and threw him in the dark shed.

“Well I would suggest we get out of here,” The tall sergeant said, looking over at Arya who had already succeeded in escaping from her bindings and was untying Anguy.

"Zombies?” Jaime scoffed at Bronn, “really?”

The captain shrugged, “Rotten corpses, rising from the dead and walking around. What would you call ‘em?”

“Zombies, I suppose,” Jaime replied with a smirk.

“Shut up Kingslayer,” Clegane snarled.

“You have a new codename.” Anguy chuckled, “Hey, ‘Shut Up Kingslayer’ why are you such a-.”

“Shut up Archer,” the Hound barked at the young man, “stop the jabbering, we need to find our weapons and get the fuck out of here.”

The Hound threw open the door of the shed. The two guards had barely time to react before the large marine knocked their head together rendering them unconscious. Taking the guard’s rifles, Sandor handed one to Bronn.

Arya seemed to know exactly where to go, she claimed she could hear her faces. Keeping to the shadows, they found their weapons and gear in what appeared to be Styr Grimm’s office. The locked door wasn’t a barrier for the Kingslayer, his phantom hand slide through the lock easily enough. 

After finding his bow and arrows, Anguy glanced out the window, toward a disturbance near the northern edge of the compound.

Suddenly the world exploded in gunshots and shouting. 

“The compound is under attack!” the Archer hissed. 

“The vehicles are this way,” Arya said pointing south.

The crash and splintering of wood rang through the compound. The northern gate had collapsed and a horde of dead streamed through the opening.

Gunshots and screams filled the compound. Although the Thenns were heavily armed, the creatures pouring through the shattered gate seemed immune to bullets.

“Go, go, go,” the Hound shouted, Grabbing Anguy’s collar and pushing his team forward, as they stopped to stare at the unnatural sight.

Reaching the garage, they found it full of ATVs and four-wheel drive trucks. Bronn leapt into one of the trucks, looking under the visor for the keys. 

“I’ll have to hotwire it,” Bronn signed.

“Just hurry the fuck up!” The Hound bellowed at the captain. 

Several Thenns had given up trying to fight the invaders and were running toward the garage, closely followed by the staggering tattered creatures.

As Bronn tried to hotwire the truck, the rest of the team piled onto the back of the vehicle. Anguy stood on the back, and continued shooting explosive arrow after arrow into the horde creatures. 

The dead would stagger backwards and explode, twitching on the ground. It did little to stop the stream of creatures.

“Archer, watch out!” Jaime shouted.

Anguy turned his eyes wide as a torrent of the dead lunged forward, grabbing his leg and pulling him from the truck. Brienne and Arya reached out, seizing the young archer’s arms.

Jaime held onto the back of the truck and lashed out at the creatures with his phantom hand as the Hound shot into the advancing creatures with his machine gun.

The young archer’s body suddenly yanked from Brienne and Ayra’s arms as a horde of undead reached the archer, pulling him from their grasp. 

Brienne leapt into the throng of dead, landing blow after blow with her baton. The creatures staggered backwards and exploded whenever the Valyrian Steel nightstick struck one of the undead monsters.

Dragging Anguy’s listless body up onto the truck bed, Brienne leapt into Jaime’s outstretched arms, just as the engine roared alive, the truck squealed as Bronn slammed down on the gas pedal, crashing into Thenns and undead alike they sped through the compound. 

When they were well enough away from the Thenn settlement Brienne crawled over to Anguy, the young archer lay motionless on the bottom of the truck bed. Checking for a pulse of the side of Anguy’s neck, the youth was already cold to the touch.

“He’s dead,” Brienne cried, “He was just a boy, who dreamed of being a hero.”

Jaime pulled Brienne into his arms. He had laughed at the boy, treated the young archer with contempt, never really seeing him for what he truly was. A young idealistic fool, who only wanted to change the world, Jaime thought about his last conversation with the young man. 

_‘You aren’t a villain anymore?’_

_‘I don’t’ know, I don’t want to be. Maybe that’s enough’_

_‘Maybe that’s enough’._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are LOVE!


	11. Past, Present, Future.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dragons, wights, and mysterious warlocks.

Chapter 11  
Past, Present, Future.

Olenna Tyrell scowled as she looked down at her computer tablet. Task Force X had run into trouble at some tiny little backwoods town called Last Hope, and with its dolt of a local Sheriff.

Biters corpse still held in the county doctor’s office, what passed for a morgue in the small town. She would have to send a team up there to collect his remains, before the local doctor did an autopsy and discovered the nano-bomb embedded in Biters Neck.

The Sheriff had already accessed the National Criminal Database, and identified several of the team. That wasn’t a problem. That is why she had created Task Force X. If word of their activities got out, they were just a bunch of supervillains causing problems for a small town, with no connection to the government or the Nights Watch.

She decided to send Sam Tarly the young Maester was good with people, and was smart enough not to let any secrets slip. 

The debacle in the Far North wasn’t what bothered the Lord Commander of the Nights Watch, she knew there would be occasional problems, and this one was relatively minor.

What really bothered her, was the new recruits to Task Force X, they were all so…criminal.

Shagwell the Fool was some psychotic Joker wannabe. Oleanna wished she could get her hands on the real Joker, but the insane Clown Prince of Gotham was far too slippery. 

Poison Ivy, Margery Tyrell, could control plant life. Olenna had heard of Poison Ivy, but didn't know the woman's real name, apparently the young Meta-human was a distant relative, several time removed. That gave Olenna some trepidation, could she really enlist a relative, even a distant one into what the Kingslayer had dubbed the Suicide Squad. Oleanna Tyrell had never had children of her own, because her career had always come first. The young woman did bear a striking resemblance to Olenna, when she was young. 

They could use more Meta-humans on the team. The Kingslayer was the only Meta they currently had and he had already turned on one of his teammates, although apparently with reason. Unless she counted No One, the young assassin did process some arcane skills, not really a Meta though. 

Iggo Zsasz, a sadistic serial killer, who carves tally-marks into his skin for each of his victims. The man was once one of Roose Bolton’s enforcers. He had some history with the Bloody Mummers. Like Shagwell, the man was another wild card. It would be wise not the assign them to the same team. 

Oleanna sighed. There were several members of the Brotherhood without banners, who showed promise, although sometimes, the Brotherhood was a little self-righteous for their own good. That self-righteousness is what got the young archer, Anguy killed.

The mission had been a success, even though the team had not made it to the lair of the Night King. The team returned to the extraction site after the forces of the super-villain had attacked the Thenn encampment. They had even freed Captain Blackwater from the mountain men. Qyburn ad Tarley were scoring through the information Blackwater had recovered from the Night King.

-oOo-

Pyat Pree hurried to the awakening chamber, the small silver haired Dragon Queen stood next to her henchmen, Kodiak. The beast of a man had more hair on his face, arms and chest then his head. Kodiak was a Meta-human and could transform into a bear, not that surprising, the man was already half-way there.

“Meta-humans,” the sorcerer snorted to himself, he wasn’t impressed. 

The governments of the world were all jumpy over what they called the ‘Meta-human threat.’ It was nonsense, Meta-humans were just the latest of an unending line of threats that puny men feared. In his many lifetimes, Pyat Pree had seen worse, much worse. Meta-humans were of little interest to him.

Pyat Pree had lived for centuries, and had gone by many names. He had spent some of those centuries banished to another dimension, until he managed to escape seventy years ago. After he emerged back into the realm of man, he had taken on the name Pyatt Pree, after a character from one of Ser Samwell Tarly’s, the great bard of westeros famous plays, _A Song of Ice and Fire_.

“Well?” Daenerys asked the warlock, “Can they be hatched?”

“Yes,” Pyat Pree hissed, running a long sharp fingernail over one of the stone dragon eggs.

The crack of the Dragon Queen’s whip, advised the Warlock that the Dragon Queen wasn’t pleased with him touching the egg.

“Pree,” the Dragon Queen scowled, “I would suggest you stop pawing them and start working on a way to hatch my dragons.”

The warlock growled inwardly. This Dragon Queen was the same as the other one, another Dragon queen centuries ago. At least he believed she was the same, Pyat Pree had lived so long he had forgotten more than most people ever would know. The old warlock motioned to an ornate receptacle on the pedestal in the center of a large circle, “Place the eggs there and we can begin.”

Kodiak carried the eggs to the pedestal and placed them in the stone bowl. Carved into the surface of the vessel, were ancient valyrian runes. On three sides of the circle, tall pillars stood ominously.

Three novices emerged from the side door, forcing three drugged, silver haired and starry-eyed youths forward. The novices chained the youths to the pillars. 

“I don’t like the look of this,” Kodiak growled at Daenerys.

Jorah Mormont, the Kodiak, would do almost anything Daenerys Stormborn asked, because he was secretly, deeply in love with her. However, he didn’t trust Pyat Pree and he had told her as much, after the old mage had promised the Dragon Queen he could hatch the dragon eggs.

Daenerys answered, “He just needs to siphon their power, they are like me and carry the blood of old Valyria. They won’t be harmed.”

The warlock sneered in contempt, remembering a time when the strong were less concerned about the lives of the weak. At least he thought he remembered. 

Pyat Pree began to chant in old Valyrian. Fire rose from the grooves in the floor surrounding the pedestal and the eggs. It quickly spread along a channel leading to the bound victims. 

“Khaleesi?” Kodiak hissed in concern.

Daenerys stepped forward, “Pree! I never agreed to human sacrifices.”

“Oh, but you did Princess, I told you there would be a price,” Pyat Pree’s sinister laughed echoed through the chamber.

“I paid you in gold and gems! Not this,” Daenarys shouted.

Pyat Pree laughed and didn't notice the danger he was in, until looking up he was startled as a giant bear roared up in front of him, _The fools interrupting the ritual in the middle._ Pree scowled before, waving his arms and disappearing, just as Mormont's large claw swung through the air where the warlock had once stood. 

The fire spread onto Jorah’s fur, he howled in rage and ran from the flames, turning back to his human form and swatting at the flames on his costume.

Meanwhile, Daenerys had freed the prisoners. Turning back her amethyst eyes went wide. Without the Warlock controlling the wild magic, the fire had spread, engulfing the chamber in an infernal. 

“My dragon eggs!” Daenerys cried.

“No!” Jorah couldn’t stop her before Daenerys ran into the flames.

The three young prisoners looked in horror and fled from the chamber, as the hairy man morphed into a giant bear. Roaring in anguish Jorah tried to reach the flames, but the heat kept pushing him back.

A moment later Daenerys stepped from the flames, her hair and costume had burned away and three small dragons clung to her shoulders.

-oOo-

The jail cell was white, white bed, white sink and toilet. Even her overalls were white. Brienne had expected to return to her old cell and orange overalls, after they returned from the mission in the Frostfangs. That hadn’t happened. Task Force X now had their own private wing inside Castle Black.

Director Tyrell had debriefed all of them separately, before dumping them in their new cells. They never did make it to the lair of the Night King. There was no need, Captain Bronn Blackwater had all the information they needed. Sergeant Clegane had made the decision to return to the extraction site.

At least her new accommodations were cleaner and wasn’t crowded and they even some privileges. The Nights Watch had even supplied Brienne with several books so she could read. 

The world suddenly went dark and Brienne heard the slight click of the cell door unlocking. A moment later emergency lights flickered on in the hall. Brienne stood up and rattled the door handle. It was still unlocked. Power had not returned to the electronic locks. Tentatively she stepped out into the hall. Slipping down the corridor, at the end of the hall a guard sat behind a desk, sloughed in a chair.

“Ser?” She asked as she approached the guard. Maybe he was asleep. Reaching out Brienne laid her hand on the man’s shoulder. The guard fell forward, blood splattering on the desk.

Brienne jumped backward and collided with a firm chest. 

“Easy wench,” Jaime hissed, grabbing her arms so she couldn’t knock him on his ass.

“Did you…? Did you kill the guard?” Brienne shuttered.

Jaime let out an exasperated sigh, _Does she really think so little of me?_

“No,” Jaime whispered, “He was dead when I found him.”

“Where are the rest of the guards?” Brienne asked.

Jaime shrugged, “your guess is as good as mine.”

“We should go back to our cells and-,” Brienne started.

“We don’t know how much of the prison is without power,” Jaime said shaking his head, “there are people worse than Biter locked up in here. Do you really want to be sitting alone your cell, waiting for them to kill or rape you?”

Brienne shivered and followed the Kingslayer down the dark hall. The only light was the sapphire glimmer from his phantom hand. The power to the dampening collars apparently cut as well. That could mean every supervillian in the prison might once again had full control of their powers. 

They passed a window and noticed the lights were still on in the main section of the prison. 

“At least we don’t have to worry about a full scale meta-human riot,” Jaime said. 

Edging down the corridor, they found the door to Qyburn’s Lab broken open. It appeared as if someone or something had bashed the door open from the inside.

Gunshots reverberated from the upper floors, following the sound they found two more guards dead, their guns lying discarded on the floor. 

“Who could do this?” Brienne gasped.

Jaime shrugged as a loud crash and a scream echoed down the corridor. Jaime and Brienne ran toward the unnerving shriek. A prisoner in white overalls was pounding on the barred door of Commander Tyrell's office. 

“I understand why you would want to kill that woman,” Jaime chuckled at the mysterious man’s back, “but you know-,”

The man turned slowly to glare at them with cold blue eyes, a mop of red shaggy hair fell down onto the pale grey face. 

“Anguy!” Brienne gasped, “How! You’re dead?”

The creature that was once Anguy staggered forward, his hand reaching out. Just like Osha's dead husband, there was no light or intelligence in Anguy's cold blue eyes

Jaime pushed Brienne behind him and swung his phantom sword at the young man, cutting him in half. Anguy’s legs continued to twitch as he crawled forward on his arms.

Oleana Tyrell threw the door open and aimed a small handgun at Anguy’s struggling corpse. Firing a single shot into the creatures head, the wight twitched and collapsed silently on the floor. 

She looked up at Brienne and Jaime with hard eyes. She casually raised the gun aiming the weapon at Jaime’s head, as if she darning either of them to try anything. Jaime raised his hands and chuckled as Sergeant Clegane and Captain Blackwater rounded the corner carrying machine guns.

Brienne knelt down next to Anguy’s still corpse, and brushed his auburn hair away from his eyes.

“Why…? How…?” she cried looking up at the director.

“Valyrian steel bullets,” Bronn answered, “It’s the only thing we have found that will take one of these things out.”

“He isn’t one of those things!” Brienne cried, “How can you be so cold? He was one of us…he was just a boy!”

“As far as we can tell,” Tyrell rolled her shoulders stiffly and replied, “These creatures are created from the husks of the recently dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay in posting this chapter, I have returned to work and suddenly became very busy. I will try to update at least once a week from now on. Thank you all for your patience. 
> 
> Comments are love.


	12. The Night Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The suicide squad gets new equipment, while Bran travels North with the Reeds.

Chapter 12  
The Night Train 

“Rise and shine, sweetheart,” a bored voice called, pounding on Brienne’s cell door.

Brienne waited silently as the door buzzed and slid open, stepping out into the corridor and walking ahead of two guards as they herded her toward the common area. 

The guards were different in this section of the prison. They wore the black uniform of the Nights Watch. Not disgruntled civil servants, these were well-trained former military, they were strict, but not sadistic like some of the other guards in Castle Black.

The common area was different as well, not as crowded and they even had a small kitchenette. Jaime and Bronn sat at a table playing chess, while Arya was in the kitchen making the largest sandwich Brienne had ever seen.

A beautiful young woman was sitting next to Jaime. She also wore a collar around her neck. Long, curling, light brown hair cascaded down her back. Brienne felt a tinge of jealousy when the young woman touched Jaime’s arm and laughed when he captured Bronn’s knight. 

Brienne cursed her disruptive feelings. _I have no claim on him,_ she reminded herself. The woman was beautiful and the collar around her delicate neck identified her as a Meta-human. Jaime had a lot in common with the beautiful woman. Why wouldn’t he be interested?

Brienne walked over to the window that looked out on the private exercise yard as she ran her fingers through her short hair. At least they didn’t have to share the yard with the other prisoners and every day Sergeant Clegane trained them in military tactics and teamwork. 

Brienne enjoyed the training exercises, even though the sergeant yelled and called them foul names. She had trained in one form or another almost her entire life. First as a gymnast. In her early teens, after she had grown too tall and awkward, she had switched to combat sports, winning gold at the Valyrian Games in the Melee. 

Jaime looked up and sighed, before knocking over his queen and forfeiting the game. 

“What the Seven Hells, Kingslayer?” Bronn hissed rubbing the back of this neck in confusion, “You were winning.”

“And now you won,” Jaime scoffed, and shook off the young woman’s hands before standing up and joining Brienne at the window.

“Hey,” Jaime said leaning against the window and looking into Brienne’s eyes, “are you okay?”

Brienne pressed her lips together and nodded. The rest of the squad seemed unconcerned they had lost two teammates. Not to mention Anguy returning from the dead and killing several guards before Olenna Tyrell shot him in the head with a Valyrian Steel bullet.

Brienne still couldn’t stop thinking about the young archer, the husk of the dead man rising from the dead and haunting the halls of Castle Black.

“Look we have both seen stranger things,” Jaime said trying to comfort her, “this world is full of bizarre myster-.”

“You’ve seen men returning from the dead have you?” Brienne hissed.

“Well no,” Jaime admitted sticking his hands deep into his pockets.

Brienne knew he was only trying to help, sighing she looked over at the Bronn and the new recruit.

“So who is she?” Brienne asked, nodding at the young woman.

“Who that?” Jaime said, “None other than the infamous Poison Ivy.”

“Really?” Brienne gasped. 

There were a few supervillains, who had gained the amount of fame of a movie star. Poison Ivy was one of them. The woman was probably as famous or infamous as the Kingslayer. 

“She is very beautiful,” Brienne noticed turning back to look at the equally beautiful man standing next to her, “and a Meta. Are you and she-.”

Jaime snorted, “Not interested.”

“Why not?” Brienne asked, “You have a lot in common.”

“Are you trying to set me up, Wench?” Jaime laughed.

“No,” Brienne stuttered, “I just thought.”

“Well, other than Poison Ivy is totally nuts,” Jaime answered running his left hand down Brienne’s sleeve, “I’m interested in someone else.” 

Brienne’s eyes widened to the size of gold dragon coins. Was he playing with her? Could he really be interested in her? Especially, after Poison Ivy was so blatantly flirted with him. 

Jaime reached up and ran a knuckle across Brienne’s chin, brushing his fingers against her lips. Jaime gazed into her amazing blue eyes, an endless blue sea he could drown.

Brienne trembled as he leaned forward, their breath mingling in the crisp air. So distracted, neither of them noticed Sergeant Clegane entering the common room. 

“What in the Mother of dog fucks is wrong with you lazy cunts?” The Hound roared. 

Jaime sighed.

“Kingslayer!” Clegane turned his eyes to Jaime, “She’s not your momma. So stop with the doe eyes.” 

Brienne had to laugh as they followed the sergeant out into the yard. Clegane unlocked the collars around Jaime and Poison Ivy’s necks. 

“Just try and get smart,” the Hound warned with a dry laugh, “I could enjoy a good fireworks show. Lighten the mood.” 

Brienne didn’t mind the exercise and Clegane rarely yelled at her and the strenuous training took her mind off their hopeless situation. 

Today most of the sergeant’s venom directed at the newest recruit, “Flower Girl!” he yelled, spittle flying into her face, “Throwing pretty pink roses isn’t going to cut it on this team.”

Poison Ivy scoffed and raised her hands into the air. A large thorny vine erupted from the ground and writhed toward the sergeant. The Hound remained motionless as the vine stopped a fraction of an inch from his ugly face. The plant slammed into the dirt next to Clegane’s feet, shaking the yard.

The Hound merely snorted and turned away, shaking his head, “not impressed.”

After an hour of practice, the Marine Sergeant lined up the squad and strolled back and forth before them. 

“Lieutenant Tarly and Maester Qyburn, have developed some new toys for you babies,” the Hound chuckled at his own joke, “Kingslayer, Tarth since you appear to be connected at the hip, you go first.”

Two large Night’s Watch guards followed Jaime and Brienne as they made their way to Qyburn’s lab. The old Maester gave Brienne the creeps, but Lieutenant Tarly was polite and always kind. 

Brienne was glad she wasn’t a Meta. Qyburn specialized in Meta-humans, while Sam Tarly deigned weapons and armor. Brienne smiled as the chubby lieutenant ambled up to her carrying a new sword.

“I noticed your better with a sword then the night stick,” Sam Tarly said handing Brienne the sword.

“It’s hard to go unnoticed carrying a long sword in your hand,” Brienne replied.

“I thought that might be the reason, that is the beauty of this blade,” Sam said with a wide grin, “It’s collapsible.”

The Maester demonstrated how the sword easily collapsed to the size of a large knife. 

Brienne took the sword, from Sam and practiced flicking it open. 

“It’s Valyrian steel, if case you run into anymore wights,” Lieutenant Tarly said. 

“Wights?” Brienne looked at Samwell strangely.

“The walking dead,” Samwell replied, “It’s an archaic term for Zombies.”

“Why not just call them Zombies?” Brienne asked flatly. 

Tarly shrugged and paced over to a covered mannequin, unveiling a sapphire blue Kevlar and leather uniform with black trim, “I also designed new armor for you.”

“I thought we were supposed to wear the Nights Watch uniform,” Brienne said.

“Not anymore,” Sam replied, “After the last raid, the director doesn’t want any witnesses linking you back to the Nights Watch.”

Brienne smiled at the uniform, “Why blue?” she asked.

“The Kingslayer said your code name was Sapphire, he also gave me some ideas on how your new costume should look, although most of his suggestions weren’t…um…practical,” Sam smiled shyly at her.

“I bet,” Brienne growled and looked over at Jaime. Qyburn was fastening a golden robotic hand onto his right wrist. 

Taking the new costume, Brienne turned it over in her hands. At least the costume wasn’t that revealing, Lieutenant Tarly apparently had sense enough to ignore most of Jaime’s suggestions.

“Did you make a new costume for the Kingslayer?” Brienne asked.

“Everyone gets a new high tech uniform,” Sam said, “Commander Tyrell’s orders.”

“I hope you designed skin tight gold shorts for him.” Brienne chuckled.

“Well, it’s gold…and red,” Sam said innocently, “He didn’t tell me he wanted shorts. Bare legs are not very practical in a fight. Do you think he wanted shorts?”

Brienne chuckled and shook her head, “Is there someplace I can try it on?”

Sam motioned to a screen at the far side of the lab.

After Brienne changed into her new costume and stepped from behind the screen, she noticed Jaime had changed into his new uniform, black and gold with long red cloak. 

“That is rather flashy, don’t you think,” Brienne chuckled as the Kingslayer spun around, the long red cape flowing behind him. She couldn’t help of think he looked like a medieval knight.

“We’re supposed to be flashy,” Jaime chuckled, “We’re supervillains.”

“What’s with the golden hand?” Brienne asked, “I though your phantom hand destroyed everything it touched.”

“Qyburn claims it will withstand my phantom energy,” Jaime said turning the hand and clutching the fingers. “It is apparently Valyrian Steel and super strong. He says my destructive power will double.”

Jaime phantom hand shimmered, the sapphire glow enveloped the golden hand, and it didn’t dissolve or crack apart. 

“If it wasn’t for the guards and loss of personal freedom,” Jaime laughed, “This wouldn’t be such a bad place. Three meals a day, and a team of scientist developing weapons and armor for us.”

Brienne shivered, “I wouldn’t want that Maester Qyburn developing anything for me.”

“You’re lucky he only works on Meta’s,” Jaime said taking Brienne’s hand and escorting her to the door where two black clad guards waited to escort them back to the exercise yard. 

Poison Ivy entered the lab as they were leaving. Qyburn leered at her and beckoned her forward.

“Good luck,” Jaime chuckled at the young woman.

-oOo-

An hour later, Brienne was sparing with Poison Ivy, whose name she had learned was Margery Tyrell, no relation to the Lord Commander. Brienne was surprised Margery was actually rather pleasant and she didn’t appear to be as crazy as Jaime claimed. 

The Hound watching them from the far side of the yard appeared to be talking to himself again. Brienne knew he would be talking to Olenna Tyrell through an earpiece. 

Sighing loudly he marched over and roared down at Poison Ivy loudly, “Miss little Flower Child, were you not briefed on what would happen if you attacked a member of the staff?” 

“What? I didn’t hurt him.” Margery scowled up at the marine.

“You threatened him,” The Hound growled, “that’s a good way to get your head separated from your body.”

“That old pervert Qyburn needs to learn to keep his slimy hands to himself.” Margery sneered, standing her ground against the large marine.

Arya and Brienne stood next to Margery in a show of support.

“Qyburn is creepy, I don’t blame you,” Brienne scowled.

Arya nodded her head in agreement. 

Sander pressed his lips together in a stern frown, “Just…next time, keep your powers under control.”

The Hound shook his head and mumbled about a lack of discipline, before he spotted the Kingslayer.

“Kingslayer, the commander wants you for a mission,” the large marine hollered, happy to escape the three women who were staring at him accusingly. 

Jaime looked up from sparing with Bronn. A ‘who me?’ expression written on his handsome face. 

“You too, Captain,” The Hound told Bronn.

“Were we going?” Jaime asked the sergeant.

“Dorne, from what I hear,” The marine said gruffly.

“What’s in Dorne?” Jaime asked.

“Why don’t you go find out,” the Hound growled, “instead of bothering me.”

-oOo-

“Kingslayer, Captain Blackwater,” Olenna Tyrell said, not bothering to look up from her tablet as they entered her office.

“You wanted to see us?” Bronn asked.

“Yes Captain Blackwater,” Olenna said placing the tablet down on her desk, “ please, have a seat. I have a new mission for both of you.”

“Just the two of us?” Bronn asked.

Tyrell nodded, “you will be going deep undercover, in Dorne.”

“What’s in Dorne?” Jaime scoffed, “Other than sand and snakes.”

“You are more correct then you realize, Kingslayer,” the director tapped on her tablet and one of the screens behind her desk flickered and changed to a group of young women. “These are the Sand Snakes, Dornish freedom fighters.”

“Dorne has been trying to leave the United Kingdoms for centuries,” Bronn said rubbing his distinctive goatee, “sense when, are we interested in their independence movement?”

“Since they decided to kidnap the daughter of the Prime Minister,” Tyrell answered and tapped on the screen bring up a picture on a pretty, young woman.

“Myrcella,” Jaime gasped.

“You know her?” Bronn asked in surprise.

Jaime nodded, “She’s my-,”

Olenna Tyrell looked at Jaime knowingly, “Your niece, I believe.”

Jaime nodded, it was best if Bronn or the director didn’t know that Myrcella Baratheon was really his daughter. At least that is what Cersei claimed. That was the kind of information, a government spymaster such as Olenna Tyrell would be all too interested. 

“How did this happen?” Jaime asked furiously, “Didn’t she have body guards?”

“According to our informant inside the Sand Snake organization, Myrcella Baratheon’s body guard, Arys Oakheart was compromised by the rebels and turned the girl over to them.” The commander replied.

Jaime clenched his fists, Cersei would surely be beside herself with grief, while he, locked up in Castle Black, was playing super hero. He should be in Kings Landing, with Cersei.

Tyrell voice disappeared into the mist as Jaime brooded over his poor life decisions. He should have been there for Cersei, for his family. He would have to find a way to escape the Nights Watch and return to his sister’s side.

Suddenly Jaime felt eyes on him, turning he noticed Captain Blackwater staring at him. A nearly imperceptible shake of the man’s head in warning, and Jaime realized Bronn knew what he was thinking. 

“We do not negotiate with terrorist,” Tyrell had continued while Jaime’s mind was elsewhere, “Captain Blackwater will lead this mission, infiltrate the Sand Snakes secret hideout, save the girl, and return her to her parents in Kings Landing.”

“And the Sand Snakes?” Bronn asked.

“Kill them…take them prisoners…let them go,” Tyrell shrugged her shoulders, “It doesn’t matter. Save the Prime Minister’s daughter and Robert Baratheon will be pleased. The Nights Watch could use more funding and less government oversight.”

“It’s all money in the end, isn’t it?” Jaime sneered, standing up and staring down at the small woman.

“Stop being melodramatic Kingslayer,” the Commander said, meeting his eyes, “It is all about money in the end.”

-oOo-

The train skimmed across the landscape, the world was only a blur seen from the window. Bran Stark glanced over as a young man appeared with a rolling tray of snacks.

“Coffee, tea or apple juice?” the young servant asked offering him a small bag of peanuts. Bran shook his head. 

“Do you have something other than peanuts?” Jojen Reed asked, “I’m allergic.”

“Look! The Wall!” Meera Reed gasped, “I’ve seen pictures, but they didn’t do it justice.”

The large structure loomed off to their left, as the train gradually turned to follow along the base of the massive ice wall, until it reached the Nightfort, where a tunnel ran under the massive wall. 

“Why are we going north of the Wall?” Bran asked the young Acolyte. 

“That is where the Three-Eyed-Raven is,” Jojen chuckled as if the answer was obvious.

As the train entered the tunnel that would take them under the Wall, Bran wondered about his decision to follow the Reed siblings north. He had done a background check on them of course and they were what they appeared to be, a brother and sister, both students studying at the Citadel. 

Bran hadn’t told Jon or Sansa where he was going, he only left a note at the apartment he shared with his sister, telling her he was taking a vacation in the Far North. He hoped he wasn’t being foolish.

He looked over at Meera, who was plugging her nose and scrunching her eyes together to force her ears to pop as the tunnel continued downward under the Wall. She was rather pretty in an unconventional way, with messy, curly brown hair and kind brown eyes. 

“And this Three-Eyed-Raven, he will be able to explain my…visions?” Bran asked turning to Jojen.

“Maybe…but he will be able to tell you how to control them,” Jojen replied.

“What do you know about him?” 

“My research and my own visions place him somewhere north of the Wall,” Jojen said, “from what I could gather, he is a powerful greenseer.”

“Wait, you don’t know where he is?” Bran blinked in surprise, “What were you planning? Just wondering around the Far North, looking for some mysterious stranger?”

Jojen chuckled, “Trust your visions and they will lead the way.”

Bran shook his head and sighed, again regretting the impulsive decision to travel north with the mysterious siblings, in search of an enigmatic mystic. 

Bran closed his eyes, annoyed at the Reeds, the Three-Eyed-Raven and his own recklessness. 

_The forest floor was a lattice of pine needles, which crunched softly under Bran’s feet as he walked through the tall Conifers._

_A loud squawk alerted him of the raven perched high up in one of the trees. As Bran approached the pine, the bird cawed and took to the air, flying north._

_Bran looked down and noticed he was wearing his costume, from when he was the Raven. He hadn't worn it since the Kingslayer had pushed him from LannisCorps tenth floor. Taking a grappling hook from his belt he took to the trees, swinging from one tall conifer to the next, chasing after the black bird._

_Landing on the edge of the forest, he stepped out onto a wide plain. Off in the distance on the top of a small rise, a Weirwood tree stood alone. The water of a small pool rippled at the base of the hill, the roots of the giant white crested over the rise and dropped into the pool._

_The Raven flew over the pond and landed on the Weirwood, the bird blinked as Bran approached the pool. Amongst the roots of the tree, Bran could see a small opening, a cave hidden among the rocks at the base of the hill._

Bran gasped as he startled awake, the sun was shining through the window of the train. They had passed under the Wall while Bran slept and were now in the far north.

“What did you see?” Jojen asked, looking at Bran knowingly.

“A Weirwood tree on a hill, near a small pond,” Bran replied still a little shaken by the vision.

“That is where we will find the Three-Eyed-Raven,” Jojen Reed replied with a smile.

A pleasant recorded voice announced they would be arriving at Casters Keep in a few minutes, reminding the passengers to collect all their belonging before exiting the train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love


	13. Sand Snakes and Assassins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Bronn travel to Dorne, meanwhile Brienne and Margery learn Arya's backstory.

Chapter 13  
Sand Snakes and Assassins

Even in the open cockpit of the helicopter, the dry heat of Dorne sunk into Jaime’s lungs. The landscape that rushed below was a wasteland of sand and dry brush. 

“Ready?” Bronn asked, tapping Jaime on the shoulder.

Jaime nodded and stood up leaning out into the parched winds of Dorne. Bronn jumped first, his parachute fluttered open as he descended to the earth. Jaime leaped from the helicopter a moment later.

The landed in a field of dry grasses, looking up the helicopter that had flew them from the Wall slowly turned north in a wide arch, disappearing into a cloudbank.

“The Sand Snake base is an old villa about 20 kilometers east. We walk from here,” Bronn sighed and shouldered his pack and rifle, trudging into the tall dry grass. 

The sun was beginning to set when an ancient villa shimmered into view, emerging from the mist rolling off a shallow lake. Olenna Tyrell’s spies had identified this villa was the hideout of the Sand Snakes.

“We wait here for our contact,” Bronn said settling down into the tall grasses on the far side of the lake.

A few hours later the moon shimmered on the lake water, and the sky had turned to a deep purple. A whistle of a thrasher alerted Jaime and Bronn of the approach of their contact inside the Sand Snakes. 

Bronn called back, and the contact emerged from the tall grass. The Dornishman man had a strong jaw, sandy brown hair, sky blue eyes and a thick Dornish accent.

The mysterious man and Bronn exchanged passwords before he introduced himself as Deamon Allyrion.

“Is the girl here?” Bronn asked.

“Aye,” Allyrion replied, “they have her locked in a small room on the far side of the villa.”

“You’re Dornish,” Jaime said eyeing the spy, “Why are you helping us? Don’t you want independence?”

“The Sand Snakes do not represent Dorne,” Deamon Allyrion replied tersely, “I serve my country, I serve the United Kingdoms and the Nights Watch.” 

“Can you get us passed the guards?” Bronn asked.

The Dornish spy shook his head, “Not without risk of blowing my cover, I am too deep undercover.”

Jaime asked puzzled, “You must have enough dirt on the Sand Snakes by now. Why not shut the whole operation down?”

Bronn and Deamon Allyrion looked at each other and smirked at Jaime’s naivety. 

“Tyrell doesn’t want the Sand Snakes taken out.” Bronn finally said.

“Why not?” Jaime asked in surprise, “They kidnapped my…um..the Prime Minister’s daughter. They regularly murder innocent people. That alone should be enough to send them to Castle Black for several lifetimes.”

 _Where I will find a way to make them suffer,_ Jaime thought to himself.

Bronn smirked, “The Sand Snakes serve an important purpose. They are the scapegoats of the realm.”

“I’m sure Robert Baratheon would-,” Jaime started to say.

“Robert Baratheon is only an elected official,” Bronn replied, “In a few years he will be a side note in the history books. Tyrell and Varys on the other hand will remain.”

“That is why this is a Nights Watch operation,” the Dornish spy added, “Baratheon would come in here with guns blaring, destroying the Sand Snakes once and for all.”

“What is wrong with that?” Jaime growled.

“A new outfit would only take its place,” Allyrion replied, “one we haven’t yet infiltrated. Better the enemy we know.”

“And they call me a villain,” Jaime sneered, “Varys and Tyrell are pure evil.”

The two Night’s Watch spies nodded in agreement before getting back to business. 

Deamon drew a map of the villa in the dirt and noted were guards were, “Is it just you two then?” 

Bronn winked at Jaime and replied, “We have…certain skills.”

-oOo-

Brienne rubbed her forehead, trying to concentrate on the chessboard. Arya would check her king on the next move. She had made to many stupid mistakes.

“She’s worried about the Kingslayer,” Margery noted with a giggle.

Brienne sighed, not wanting her growing feelings for Jaime to be so transparent. It wasn’t as if she was in love with him, at least she didn’t want to be. The man was annoying and rude. Nevertheless, she had grown used to his voice and his face and she missed his presence.

“I hope he gets what he deserves,” Arya sneered moving her queen, “checkmate.”

“The Kingslayer seems alright,” Poison Ivy cooed, “he is awfully handsome.”

Brienne fought back a wave a jealousy, Margery Tyrell was a shameless flirt and she didn’t mean anything by her comment.

“He’s a Lannister,” Arya scoffed.

“Really? As in the Prime Minister’s wife?” Margery asked, “…and LannisCorp?”

Arya nodded and scowled.

“Cersei Lannister-Baratheon ordered the murder of my father,” Arya said flatly.

“Wait! Are you saying the wife of the Prime Minister took a hit out on someone?” Margery laughed in disbelieve.

Brienne ignored Margery’s remark, “Do you want to talk about it Arya?”

“No,” Arya growled like a lone wolf and looked away.

Brienne reached out and tapped the younger woman’s hand, “It might help.”

Arya sighed and turned back to Brienne and Margery, “My father was Ed Stark, a leader in the IWW. After he…was murdered, my family was torn apart.”

“Weren’t they like…anarchists?” Margery said with a little laugh, “I do like anarchists.”

Arya didn’t answer. She couldn’t argue. It was true there was a fringe element in the IWW, the Industrial Workers of the World, who were radical. Her father had been one of the most radical. 

“Father had uncovered a scandal involving Cersei Lannister-Baratheon and her secret lover.” Arya continued, “Several of her goons lead by Meryn Trant came in the middle of the night and arrested Father for treason.”

“Do you know who the mysterious lover was?” Margery asked, her eyes lighting up with excitement at the prospect of a secret romance. 

Arya shook her head, “Father never made it to the police station, they claimed he tried to escape and…murdered him.”

Arya sat quietly for a minute before she continued, “My brother Robb died, mysteriously, trying to prove his innocence,” Arya said, “my mother had died when I was four, so my little brother Rickon and I were placed in foster care.”

When Arya went on the explain that when she was fourteen she ran away from their foster parents and made her way to Braavos. There she trained as a Faceless Man. She left the League of Assassins two years ago, in order to avenge her father and brother.”

-oOo-

“Bran?” Sansa called as she opened the door to their apartment. Throwing her keys on a small table near the door, she made her way to the kitchen shifting two large bags of groceries.

“Bran?” she called again, no answer.

Her brother didn’t have classes tonight and he wasn’t with Jon, he should be home. Sansa walked into the living room and spotted the note on the coffee table next to the sofa.

__

> _Sansa,_
> 
> _I’m going up north with some friends from school. Don’t worry I will be home in a few days._
> 
> _Love Bran._

It wasn’t like Bran to be so impulsive. Sansa wasn’t even aware he had friends other than Jon and herself. Ever since the Kingslayer pushed Bran from the tenth floor of the LannisCorp building in downtown White Harbor, the young man had become overly cautious. He had even turned into a bit of a recluse. Sansa couldn’t help but smile, happy that her brother had finally made friends and was again getting out into the world. _I hope that one of Bran’s new friends was female,_ Sansa chuckled. 

A knock on the door, startled her from her musing, “Did you forget something Bran?” she asked walking to the door. “You’re not chickening out are you?”

Throwing open the door Sansa expected to see Bran. Instead, the face of Ramsey Bolton, the Clown Prince of Gotham, grinned at her from the doorway. The Joker’s green spiky hair contrasted with his white painted face and dark eyeliner. He wore a brightly colored shirt decorated with gaudy flowers and purple slacks.

Her eyes lowered to the gun he held in his hand. A second later, the weapon fired, a sound like thunder echoed through the small apartment, and Sansa flew backwards crashing into the coffee table. The last thing she remembered was the Jokers leering face hovering above her.

-oOo-

“Are you sure about this?” Jaime asked as they walked along the long dirt road, leading to the iron front gate of the villa.

“The area is too heavily guarded,” Bronn said putting on a distinctive black and orange helmet, “the direct approach in the only option.”

“You look every inch a supervillain,” Jaime chuckled. Samwell had apparently designed a new uniform for Bronn so he wouldn’t look like a member of the Nights Watch, “Have you come up with a codename?”

“Aye,” Bronn said, “The name I went by in the Navy Special Forces…Deathstroke.”

“Makes you sound dangerous,” Jaime laughed.

“I am dangerous,” Bronn said with a sinister grin.

The slight clink alerted them to the guards.

“What’s your business here?” a thick Dornish accent growled from behind the barrel of the rifle.

Bronn smiled widely and said, “We offer….services you might be interested.”

The guard chucked, “You’re not my type.”

Jaime picked up a rock near the side of the road, tossing it in the air a couple times before crushing it with his phantom hand. Looking back up at the startled guard, as the dusty remains of the rock fell to the ground.

“I’m sure Lady Arianne would beg to differ,” Bronn replied smugly crossing his arms in front of this chest.

The Adam’s apple of startled guard bobbed in his throat, “Um, yes, follow me.”

They were lead into a lavishly decorated solar, behind a large oak desk sat a beautiful olive skinned woman with dark eyes and long think black hair tied in a long ponytail.

“How may I help you…gentlemen?” the woman said in a husky, alluring voice.

“I am sure you have heard of us,” Bronn said smugly.

“I’ve heard of the Kingslayer,” the woman replied nodding at Jaime, “who are you supposed to be?”

“Deathstroke,” Bronn replied, “the deadliest assassin in-.”

The woman only looked annoyed and interrupted, “Why are you here?”

“Why, to offer our services…as assassins,” Bronn said a sly grin spreading across his face, “unless of course there is some other service, you are interested in.”

Arianna Martell raised a delicate eyebrow and seemed to consider the offer, “we may have use for your skillset. You must understand I must first discuss your offer with my councilors.”

“You are not in charge then?” Bronn smirked, “Are you not a member of Dorne’s royal family?”

Arianna Martell’s dark eyes feel on Bronn, “Don’t test my patience,” she sneered, “or my goodwill. You are nothing more than a couple of upstart sell-swords.” 

“My apologies Your Grace,” Bronn bowed and smiled broadly at the woman.

“Best you remember that,” She said, motioning a guard forward, “In the meantime, you must be tired. Rest, we will be serving dinner in an hour.”

The guard escorted them to a small room on the second floor. 

Bronn sat down on the bed and scoffed, “The insult, never heard of me, indeed?”

“Considering you just made up the codename Deathstroke an hour ago,” Jaime laughed.

Bronn waved away the remark, taking off his helmet and shaking out his hair, “They will know the name of Deathstroke soon enough.”

“You’re not really taking this supervillain thing seriously?” Jaime asked.

“Stop taking the fun out of it,” Bronn chuckled.

“You know that woman is a princess,” Jaime reminded his companion, “why were you flirting with her like some…nightclub pickup?”

Bronn chuckled, “I’ve been north of the Wall for two months, fighting Thenns and Zombies. Both the weather and the scenery are much better here.”

“So, what now?” 

“Now, we enjoy a fine meal and the company of our beautiful hostess,” Bronn replied with a wink, “We can’t do anything else until dark, when we can have a good look around the villa.”

Deathstroke lay down on the bed his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. A moment later, he opened one eye and glanced at the Kingslayer who had paced to the window and was staring out onto a neglected garden, overgrown with weeds and brush. 

The Captain sighed and closed his eye, deciding to let the Kingslayer brood. Soon Bronn was fast asleep, his light snores the only sound intruding the quite of the villa.

Jaime looked back at his sleeping companion. He could kill Bronn right now, ripe the villa apart, find Myrcella and return her to Kings Landing. He was sure his father’s technicians could find a way to disable the nano-bomb lodged in his neck. 

Shaking his head, Jaime decided against that course of action. It would involve having to slink back to his father. He had escaped that life once and he didn’t wish to return. 

Jaime looked back at Bronn, the former Navy commando was often coarse and rude, but none-the-less Jaime liked him. He hoped to find a way to escape, which wouldn’t involve killing the man.

A knock on the door, and Bronn was instantly awake, his hand on the hilt of one of the many knives laced on his black and orange costume. 

The Kingslayer turned from his contemplation of the garden and strolled to the door. A guard in traditional yellow Dornish robes was waiting to escort them to the dining hall.

Arianna Martell sat at the far end of a long table, surrounded by several men and women. The Dornish Princess and the diner guest all wore traditional robes. Arianna acknowledged Bronn and Jaime with a slight nod of her refined head. 

“Gentlemen,” Arianna said motioning to two empty chairs near the front of the table, “please join us.”

The princess introduced the guest, all leading members of the Dornish underground. Jaime felt his phantom hand itch as he realized how easy it would be to take out the entire resistance movement. 

Tyrell would be furious, and she would probably detonate the bomb in his neck in retaliation. Jaime smiled it might well be worthwhile just to annoy the vile woman.

“This is a lovely villa, Your Grace,” Bronn’s voice broke Jaime away from his musing, “Although, from the look of things, it had seen better days.”

“The Water Garden is thousands of years old,” Arianna replied, “There was once a time when the royal family of Dorne would retire here, for rest and relaxation.” 

“…and it still belongs to your family? After all these centuries,” Bronn asked as servants set down the first course of sweet meats, “that is impressive most of the noble houses of Westeros have disappeared into the mists of time.”

Martell scoffed, “you make it sound so poetic, most of the other noble houses couldn’t complete in the modern world. They gradually sold off their lands and eventually their titles.”

Jaime nodded, remembering his father’s long speeches. The Lannisters had once been a noble house, Wardens of the West according to the Lannister patriarch. Like most of the nobility, they had, over the centuries sold their lands and titles. The last Lord Lannister was Jaime’s great-great grandfather. Tywin Lannister had for years tried to convince the king to restore the title to the family.

“How did the Martell’s manage to ride out the storm?” Jaime asked.

Arianna Martell smiled, “House Martell was never mere lords and ladies, we were…are princes. The Dornish people remember who really rules and it is not a foreign king in Kings Landing.”

“House of Blackfyre has ruled the United Kingdoms for centuries, they are hardly foreign,” Bronn noted.

An elderly Dornishman in ancient robes scoffed, “Neither are they really Blackfyres, they dug the name out of an old text in the citadel. The family name was changed from Maegyr during the Great War of Essos, they didn’t want their surname to sound too much like the enemy." 

Bronn yawned, “I am sad to say, I have never been interested in history or whose ass sits on the Iron Throne. The Royals are mere figureheads anyway, with no real power. Real power rests in the hands of the Prime Minister, in the hands of Robert Baratheon.”

That was also a lie, real power rested in the hands of career government bureaucrats, like Tyrell and Varys.

“I hear you have served the Prime Minister a serious blow,” Jaime said, eyeing the gathered guests, noticing their reaction. Several of the Dornishmen glanced toward the east wing of the villa. _That must be where they are holding Myrcella,_ Jaime thought. 

“…And how have you come by that information?” Arianna looked at Jaime in fury.

“We are supervillains…paid assassins,” Bronn interjected, “We do not work for amateurs. It is in our best interest to discern all there is to know of any prospective employers.”

“Ah, and what is your professional opinion of our…ah…organization?” One of the guests asked.

“You are certainly bold,” Bronn chuckled, “and cunning, that is a good sign.”

“You know, you won’t get what you ask for, even if you kill the girl,” Jaime said stirring his fork around on his plate, “The government will never grant Dorne independence.” 

“That is where you will come in,” Arianna replied, “We will force them to listen. We have decided to hire you.”

“Who would you have us kill?” Bronn asked businesslike.

“Why the King of course, you will kill Haegon Blackfyre,” the Dornish princess replied coldly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love


	14. The Killing Joke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was quite the dilemma, because I love Harley Quinn. Yet I hate Myranda. However she fit the character of Harley. So I know some people won't like that Myranda as Harley, and in some chapters she might be a little sweet like Harley became after she escaped from the Jokers influence. 
> 
> I'm also thinking of adding the Flash. I'm thinking Rickon, maybe with super speed he could learn to zig zag. But if anyone has any suggestions on any DC hero or villain, feel free to leave a comment.

Chapter 14  
The Killing Joke

The ancient statues of the Lords of Winterfell hovered over the Black Wolf as he walked from his vehicle parked in the in the timeless crypt of Winterfell. Sometimes it appeared the ancient kings of the North stood in judgement. 

Jon’s family had been Kings and Lords and even Wardens of the North, for a brief period, after the Second War of the Dawn, the House of Stark had ruled all of the original Seven Kingdoms. That was before the Monarchy had giving up most of its power. The Starks had a hand in that as well. 

If Jon remembered his history correctly, the Great Charter, written in the 12th century, had broken the wheel of Westeros monarchy and ended absolute rule by kings. The charter agreed to by the King, John Frey the second of his name, after the battle of Runnymede. The first constitution of the Seven Kingdoms, drafted by the High Septon of the Starry Sept in Oldtown, assured peace between the unpopular king and a group of rebel lords. Jon’s ancestor, Lord Benjen Stark of Winterfell had signed the historic document. 

The Great Charter created the first constitutional monarchy. John Frey had hoped to save the monarchy. He had, in reality ended the Frey dynasty. The Lords rose in rebellion within the year, after King John tried to ignore the charter. He was the last Frey king. 

The Black Wolf ignored the scowling faces of his ancestors, making his way to one area of the crypt, which Jon had modernized. Maester Luwin was sitting in front of a bank of computers, searching through police reports.

“Have you found him?” Jon asked walking up the older man.

Luwin shook his head, “The Joker has been unusually quiet of late.”

“Roose Bolton insisted he was up to some…mischief.” Jon growled.

“Have you considered that Bolton may not be the most reliable of sources?” the Maester replied.

“Maybe,” Jon replied, “although, he seemed sincere.”

“Bran or Sansa would be better at this,” Luwin admitted.

“I trust you,” Jon replied with a shrug. 

He hadn’t seen Bran or Sansa for several days. It wasn’t that unusual his cousins had their own lives. They both studied at the university in White Harbor, and at least Sansa had an active social life.

Luwin nodded with a thin smile, for years, before Bran became the Raven and then Oracle, it was Maester Luwin who had provided backup to the Black Wolf. The old Maester had once worked for Jon’s parents, after their sudden death, Luwin was named conservator of their will, until Jon came of age and moved back into his parent’s mansion. 

A buzz alerted then to the incoming phone call. The name Eddison Tollett flashed on the screen. 

Jon sat down, turning on his mic, “Dolorous Edd,” Jon said lowering his voice to a deep whisper. He needed bother Edd Tollett was one of the few outsiders that knew the Black Wolf's secrets. 

“Wolf,” The intelligence agent said, “Jon…I could use your help.” straight to the point, the man was certainly direct.

Jon had worked with the government agent several times in the past. The man was cynical and surly, never-the-less Jon trusted him. 

“What can I do for you Agent Tollett?” Jon asked.

“I got a strange phone call from an old army buddy a few days ago. Tormund is the sheriff of a small town north of the Wall. There has been some unusual activity up there. I was hoping you could investigate.”

“What kind of unusual activity?” 

“He claims his town was invaded by…super-villains,” Edd replied with a cynical air, almost like he wasn’t sure if he believed it, “and there has been mysterious deaths and disappearance, throughout the county.”

“That far north is a little out of my jurisdiction,” Jon replied, wondering what Tollett’s reasons for telling him.

“He believes one of the super-villains was the Kingslayer,” Edd replied, “I thought you might be interested.”

Jon’s jaw clutched, the Kingslayer was supposed to be locked up in a secure government facility. He shouldn’t be roaming around North of the Wall.

“Give me the details,” Jon growled.

Edd Tollett told the Black Wolf everything he knew of the situation in the far north, Jon listened quietly lacing his fingers together in concentration. 

Jon sat in silence for a long while after Tollett had signed off. Finally, he got up and threw open the door.

“Where are you going?” Luwin asked.

“North,” Jon replied sharply.

-oOo-

“Wakey, wakey eggs and bakey,” a female voiced cooed waking Sansa from a fitful dream.

Sansa’s eyes fluttered open startled by two lovely eyes hovering mere inches from her face. Long bleached blond hair tied up in two ponytails the tips dyed purple and red fell from the sides of the woman’s head. 

Finding herself tied to the top of a table, Sansa gasped and tried to reach for her stomach, the bindings prevented her from moving. Confusion fogged Sansa’s brain. She only felt a slight pain in her stomach. Shuddering as she remembered the Joker’s grinning face and the deafening blast of the shotgun. She should be bleeding to death on the floor of her apartment.

“She’s just a useless nobody,” The woman scoffed, running her fingernails through Sansa’s long red hair, pricking up a strand and wrapping it around her finger, “why are we bothering with her?”

“Harley…Harley…Harley,” the voice of Ramsey Bolton, the Joker hissed from the darkened corner, “So beautiful and yet so short sighted. She is the daughter of the honorable and upstanding police commissioner Nedd Stark.”

“Humpf,” The woman yawned dropping Sansa’s hair down into her face, “she is weak.”

Sansa recognized the woman, Harley Quinn the absolutely, crazy sidekick of the Joker. Apparently, neither of the mad criminals recognized her as Lady Wolf. She didn’t even want to imagine what the pair would do if they knew who she really was. 

The Joker laughed as he skipped from the shadows, looking around he snarled, “Where is Reek? He should be back by know.”

Harley shrugged and turned back to Sansa, resting her hands on her delicate chin and staring down at their prisoner, “She is pretty. Don’t you think?” the clown girl said turning back to look at the Joker.

The Joker ignored Harley’s comment and peeked out of the window, anxiously waiting for his minion Reek to return.

“You do think she is pretty?” Harley said jealously.

Harley straightened up and strolled to the Joker running her hands across his back, “Mr. J? Can’t we just kill her? It would be fun.”

The Joker turned suddenly and backhanded Harley across her face, she flew backwards, and crashing into the table where Sansa lay tried.

“That is not the plan!” the Joker roared, “I will break her, like I broke Reek and you!”

Harley Quinn Staggered to her feet while rubbing her bruised face. A glimpse of a memory threatened to invade her mind. She was someone else, once, before the Joker had broken her will. A psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum, her name had been…Myranda Quinn. Shaking her head Harley pushed the memories away. She was Harley Quinn now.

The truth was Myranda had always been Harley, she had only forced the violent urges down, and that is why she became a psychiatrist in the first place. Myranda was her own first patient.

“You will never replace me,” Harley hissed at Sansa before she hurried away from the Jokers fury.

The clown prince watched Harley disappear down the corridor, before he turned his attention to Sansa. 

“You are wondering why you are not dead?” the Joker mused with a chuckle, “it was only a tranquilizer gun, couldn’t have you screaming for help.”

“Are you going to kill me?” Sansa asked as the Jokers sinister grin hovered over her face.

“No, I’m not going to kill you,” Ramsey laughed, “I’m just going to hurt you, really, really bad.”

-oOo-

The heat remained, even after the shimmering yellow sun had set behind the shallow rolling hills of Dorne.

Jaime paced around the small room that he and Bronn shared in the Water Gardens. Bronn had been gone for hours. The Captain had disappeared with Princess Arianna after diner. 

Pausing when a noise in the hall beyond the door alerted Jaime that someone was passing. Only a guard, Jaime realized and continued his pacing, growing more annoyed the longer he waited for Bronn to return.

When Bronn finally did return, he strolled in with a large grin. 

“Where the seven hells have you been?” Jaime growled impatiently.

“She’s a streamer, that one,” Bronn laughed to himself as he dropped down on one of the beds and hummed an old tune, about a Dornishman’s wife.

“Have you forgotten why we are here?” Jaime snarled, “Myrcella is still a prisoner somewhere-.”

Bronn said, closing his eyes, “I know, but we can’t leave just yet.”

“Why not?” Jaime was truly angry now.

“Tyrell wants intel on the plot to kill the King,” Bronn replied, “We stay put, until we can uncover the Sand Snake’s plans.”

“What about Myrcella?” Jaime shook in rage.

“Look, I know you’re concerned about your niece,” Bronn said trying to calm the Kingslayer, “But there is something larger going on here.”

Jaime’s turned to Bronn in rage. “You can stay here and seduce all the Dornish Princesses you like, I’m getting Myrcella and leaving!”

As Jaime turned to leave a strong hand clasped down on his shoulder, “Look, Kingslayer,” Deathstroke growled, “I like you, but I can’t let you risk our mission.”

Jaime swung, slamming his robotic hand into Bronn’s gut. Surprisingly Bronn didn’t even flinch. 

“Are you quite finished?” Bronn said calmly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Jaime turned, his phantom hand shimmering with power, throwing another punch at Deathstroke.

Bronn ducked, catlike and with almost unnatural speed, slamming Jaime against the wall and pressing his forearm into his friend’s neck.

“Calm down Kingslayer,” Bronn growled into Jaime’s face, “Think about it, if you disobey Tyrell, she will blow your head off. Where would Myrcella be then?”

Sighing loudly, Jaime nodded his head and rubbing his neck as Bronn released his hold. 

“How did you…?” Jaime gasped, “Are you a Meta?”

Bronn shook his head and laughed, “No, but I have… abilities, compliments of the UKW Special Forces.”

“What the Seven Hells does that mean?”

“Genetic modification,” Deathstroke replied, “the government’s response to the Meta-human threat.”

“Do you believe Metas are a threat, you believe I’m a threat?” Jaime asked, a little calmer now.

“When you’re acting like an idiot,” Bronn nodded with a smirk, “you seem to have a habit acting without thinking things through.”

Jaime pressed his lips together, he couldn’t argue. When he discovered Aerys Targaryen vile experiments, he hadn’t gone to the police or his father. He had acted, killing Aerys and accidently blowing up his mad scientist’s laboratory. 

“Now is not the time for action,” Bronn continued, “we use our wits, and we can save both Myrcella Baratheon and the king.”

Jaime sat down on the chair next the hearth with a sigh. Bronn was right, even if he managed to rescue Myrcella, and fight his way out of the villa, Tyrell would detonate the nano-bomb in his neck before they escaped from the surrounding desert.

-oOo-

Even the mornings in Dorne were stifling. The sun shimmered on the horizon, rising above the dry grasses that stretched for miles around the Water Garden.

Jaime followed Bronn down to breakfast on the patio with several leading members of the Sand Snakes. 

“Let me do the talking,” Bronn warned the Kingslayer.

The Kingslayer sat quietly contemplating the ice in his glass as Bronn negotiated with Archibald Yronwood, the older Dornish man who had joined them at diner the night before.

“It’s not enough,” Bronn scoffed.

“It is a considerable amount of gold, untraceable,” Yronwood interjected. 

“Not if you want a reigning monarch of Westeros assassinated,” Bronn yawned and turned back to his breakfast of Dornish ham.

“You said yourself, Haegon Blackfyre is nothing more than a figurehead,” Yronwood argued.

“A figurehead, whose death, would throw the United Kingdoms into civil war,” Bronn replied rubbing his fingers together, “for that you need to pay.”

Yronwood fidgeted and looked over at the other members of the resistance. A middle-ages woman, who looked similar to Arianna, maybe and aunt or cousin nodded. 

“Name your price,” the woman scowled at the assassin in contempt.

“Ten million gold dragons,” Bronn replied simply, not looking up from this plate.

“Ten million?” Yronwood gasped, “That would bankrupt us.”

Bronn didn’t reply, only shrugged his shoulders and continued to poke at the ham, “Very fine ham you have here in Dorne,” He said as if they were simply enjoying a breakfast at the fine hotel.

“Five million,” Yronwood said crossing his arms in front of him and trying to sound firm.

Bronn seemed to consider for a minute before he pointed his fork at the old man, “Eight…and the girl,”

“What?” Yronwood gasped, leaning backwards in his chair.

“The Baratheon girl,” Bronn said and nodded to Jaime who looked up in surprise, “the reward from her father will work for the rest of the payment.”

“We do not have Eight million gold dragons, right now,” Yronwood said with a worried expression.

Bronn actually looked disappointed, and clicked his tongue loudly, “Give us the girl than, as a down payment,” Bronn said, “We can use her to gain entrance to the Red Keep, and another eight after the job is done.”

“Done,” Arianna Martell said as she sauntered onto the patio.

“Princess Arianna,” Yronwood replied in shock, “can we really trust them with our only bargaining chip?”

Arianna smiled at Bronn and shook her delicate head, “No we can’t, that is why I’m sending Darkstar to Kings Landing with them.”

A tall man stepped out onto the patio. There was a troubling air, which seemed to surround the handsome man. His long silver hair, with a midnight black streak, flowed down to his shoulders. Dark purple eyes looked from Bronn to Jaime in contempt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are LOVE


	15. Shimmering Dorne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Bronn travel through the desert with Myrcella. and Sansa meets Reek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, I’m back! 
> 
> I know I took a long hiatus. Work and life, but mostly work, got in the way, as well as a serious case of writer’s block. I am hoping to update once a week, probably on Saturday. 
> 
> Chapter 15 is the first, it marks the first time I got one of my fics beta’d. I want to thank, Sea_Spirit for agreeing to beta this new chapter. I have stated before that I am the typo queen, so it couldn’t have been easy. 
> 
> I also want to thank the ladies at JB online for all their Encouragement they have given me on all my fics.

Chapter 15  
Shimmering Dorne

The air was oppressive even in the early morning. Hot and dry. The unforgiving sun burned into the tar of the long desert highway with the smell of parched air and sweat saturated the small cabin of the van.

The decrepit vehicle the Sand Snakes had given Bronn and Jaime to drive to Kings Landing didn’t have air conditioning, a fact that Bronn had moaned about continually.

Darkstar ignored the man sitting next to him in the front seat as he drove through the desert. Jaime, sitting in the back next to Myrcella Baratheon, rolled his eyes at his partner’s continuing complaints. Glancing over at the young woman, he caught her staring at him, wide-eyed.

Three hours earlier, the air still desperately trying to hold onto the chill of the Dornish night, the Sand Snakes delivered the daughter of the Prime Minister into their hands.

“Don’t you worry, Miss Baratheon,” Bronn had smiled smarmily, “we are here to bring you back to your apa.”

Myrcella had merely nodded and climbed into the decrepit old van, resigned to whatever fate awaited.

The sun had gradually risen to the apex of the sky, baking the desert until the air shimmered in the distance. Darkstar pulled the van into one of the many way stations dotting Dorne’s freeway system.

Two long haul trucks, their drivers asleep in air conditioned cabs, having stopped to rest during the heat of the day, were parked on the far side of the lot. Closer, a group of teenagers had gathered next to the old well, waiting out the heat of the day with an impromptu drinking party.

“Is it wise to stop here?” Bronn asked, motioning to the trucks and teenagers. “With all these…witnesses?”

“One does not drive through Dorne’s desert in the middle of the day,” Darkstar replied smugly, as he parked the van next to a grove of tall palm trees.

“Nonetheless…” Bronn started to say, casting a suspicious eye back to Myrcella and Jaime.

Darkstar turned, his purple-eyed gaze glaring down at Bronn. “Don’t be an idiot, Deathstroke,” the tall Dornish man sighed. “If we continue our journey during the heat of the day, the vehicle will stall, and we will be stranded miles from anywhere.”

Darkstar jumped from the driver’s seat and strolled into the grove of trees, stopping under a tall palm and settling down to rest.

Bronn turned to find Jaime helping Myrcella from the van.

“What are you doing?” Bronn growled. “She can’t just roam around free.”

“Well, she can’t stay in the van,” Jaime replied. “It’s an oven in there.”

“One does not drive through a Dornish desert in the heat of the day,” Bronn grumbled as he exited the van and followed Jaime and Myrcella under the grove of trees, finding a pleasant spot to rest.

Myrcella wandered a short distance from Bronn before she turned and looked at Jaime. “Don’t worry, I’m not planning on escaping. I know you are here to help,” she said softly, “Uncle Jaime.”

“How…?” Jaime asked, startled.

“I’ve known our family’s secret for some years,” Myrcella replied with a shy smile.

“There is still much you don’t know,” Jaime said, stepping closer.

“I know…” Myrcella said, looking down at her hands before returning her gaze to her father.

Jaime stood in stunned silence.

“Mother isn’t very good at hiding her secrets. I’ve heard her crying for you in the middle of the night…I know all about you. I know you are my…father.”

“Does your fath…Robert Baratheon know?” Jaime asked.

Myrcella shook her head. “He has never shown much interest in us. Other than when he was campaigning and he paraded us around as the perfect family.”

“I’m, I’m sorry Myrcella…” Jaime sighed. “I should have been there…”

Myrcella ran into his arms. “You’ve made mother happy,” she said with a shy smile. “That isn’t an easy task.”

“No, it wouldn’t be,” Jaime replied with a chuckle, wrapping his daughter into his arms.

Distracted by his daughter’s words, he didn’t notice the teenage drinking party had edged closer. He didn’t notice, until he heard the click of rifles and Myrcella lurched from his embrace. 

“Daryl Manwoody, what do you think you are doing?” Darkstar bellowed from behind Jaime.

“Sending King’s Landing a message,” the young man replied with a sinister sneer as he held Myrcella in a chokehold.

The young man Darkstar had called Manwoody pulled out a long knife and ran the blade down the side of Myrcella’s face. Blood followed the blade as it slid down her cheek.

“Prime Minister Baratheon will know we mean business when we send him the dead body of his precious daughter...” Manwoody snarled.

He didn’t finish his rant before Bronn was upon him; with his superior strength and speed, Deathstroke snapped the man’s neck with an ugly crack.

Jaime and Darkstar jumped on Manwoody’s companions, Jaime’s phantom hand burning with a bright sapphire glow in stark contrast to the deep blackness emanating from Darkstar. _Another Meta,_ Jaime realized. _Why am I not surprised?_ Whomever the darkness touched collapsed in fatal terror.

“Myrcella!” Jaime groaned, as the last of Manwoody’s men fell enveloped in darkness, screaming in terror.

Myrcella stood on shaking legs, looking up with fear written across her face. Her hand slowly rose to her neck. Bubbles of blood appeared at the gash on her throat. The deep gash ran from her neck up to her cheek, covering her face in blood. In slow motion, Myrcella Baratheon fell to the ground, her blood soaking into the dry soil. 

Jaime ran forward, pulling her into his arms. “Myrcella...no, I just found you.”

-o0o-

“Look alive, scum!” the Hound shouted as he walked into the courtyard of the prison. “Mission briefing in five.”

Arya, who was showing Brienne and Margaery some martial arts moves, looked up in excitement.

“Where we going, Boss Hog?” Ayra asked, bounding over to the large marine.

“What?” the Hound snarled. “You’re happy to go on a mission? You got a death wish or somethin’?”

Arya laughed. “You kidding? I live for these missions. It’s the only thing that keeps me going, cuts through the boredom of this place.”

“Well, get ready to be unbored,” the Hound growled, “because you’re going to Gotham.”

Olenna Tyrell sat behind a large desk as the three women entered her office. She didn’t say a word as she motioned for them to sit. In the back of the room sat an ominous man with long black hair tied in a braid that fell to the middle of his back. He had torn the sleeves from his white jumpsuit, revealing thick arms that bore a myriad of scars.

“There have been some concerning rumors coming out of White Harbor,” the director began, after the three women had found their seats. “Rumors of shipments originating from the Frost Fangs.”

“The Night King?” Brienne asked.

“That is what I need you to find out,” Tyrell nodded, tapping on her laptop to open a file that flickered onto the screen behind her.

“Contact Roose Bolton, Gotham’s underworld boss,” Olenna said. “If anyone knows what is going on, it will be him.”

“…and this Bolton will talk to us because…?” Brienne asked.

Olenna Tyrell turned and motioned at the man at the back of the room. “Iggo Zsasz here was once one of Bolton’s most trusted hitmen.”

The man looked up and smiled sinisterly at the director.

“…and Poison Ivy, I believe you also have some history with the Crime Lord of Gotham.”

“We’ve worked together before,” the young woman shrugged.

“Use your contacts, find out what he knows and report back,” Olenna said sternly. “Use your judgment on how to do that.”

The director waved them away after that, returning her full attention to her tablet.

-o0o-

The unpleasant odor preceded the carcass of a spent man, the smell of shit, filth and death. Tied where the Joker had left her, Sansa watched the thin man shuffle through the shadows of the room, absentmindedly touching a forgotten lamp here, a stuffed doll there, all the while mumbling under his breath.

The specter turned and considered Sansa, noticing her presence for the first time.

“Feed the prisoner,” the reedy creature murmured as he shuffled toward her. “Feed…the prisoner…pris-on-er.”

“Theon!” Sansa gasped, as the gaunt man stepped into the light.

“Reek,” the man hissed, shoving a spoonful of foul smelling gruel into her mouth.

Sansa gagged on the sludge, spitting it out and gasping again, “Theon! Why are you here?”

“Sa..Sansa?” the creature gasped, a hint of recognition in his dull eyes.

“Theon, help me.” Sansa struggled against the binding. “Before the Joker comes back.”

Theon’s eyes grew wide at the mention of the Joker, and he began visibly shaking. “My name is Reek!” The creature who was once Theon Greyjoy dropped the bowl of gruel and staggered from the chamber. “Master Joker will be angry, angry that Reek knows a secret…secret I must tell the master.”

Sansa worried her lip. “Oh, Theon...”

Theon Greyjoy had once been a hero, the Dark Arrow, who had joined the Black Wolf and Lady Wolf fighting crime in White Harbor. Theon had disappeared a few years ago, returning to his home on Pyke.

Had the Joker corrupted Theon? If so, the foul villain would soon learn Sansa’s secret identity. She had to escape before Theon had the chance to tell the Joker she was the Lady Wolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are Love!


	16. The Lords of Gotham

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon, the Black Wolf head north, while the Suicide Squad invades Gotham. Meanwhile Daenerys steals a priceless bronze artifact from the museum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic started out as a Brienne and Jaime fic, it had since developed a life of its own. I hope it isn’t to frustrating for the J/B fans, I promise they will get back together effectually.
> 
> Again Thanks to Sea_Spirit for the wonderful job of beta’ing this chapter.

Chapter 16  
The Lords of Gotham

“Direwolf Echo-Niner-Ghost, turn left heading two-five-zero to intercept the localizer, cleared runway two into Craster’s, maintain two-thousand-five hundred feet until established.” The bored voice of the controller droned though Jon’s headphones.

“Turn left heading two-five-zero...” Jon repeated the tower’s instructions in a calm voice.

As Jon circled above Craster’s Keep, he thought about the phone call from Edd Tollett. The Kingslayer was loose and stirring up trouble north of the Wall. Jon’s knuckles turned white as he angrily gripped the control wheel of his Direwolf airplane.

Ten minutes later, the voice from the control tower buzzed in his ear, informing him he had clearance to land. Jon forced his mind away from the Kingslayer as he taxied down the runway. The northern airport was infamously difficult. It was small, and the often-snowbound runways were far too short for larger planes to land easily.

After a harrowing arrival, Jon hunted down the ground crew, hoping to get the plane refueled and ready for take-off and continue his journey to Last Hope.

“Where ye headed in such a hurry?” the ground crew supervisor asked, his mouth foaming bright red from the sourleaf he gnawed.

“North,” Jon said abruptly, not really wishing to engage the man in conversation.

“Looks like you’re out of luck, handsome,” a snarky voice said from behind them.

Jon turned to find a young woman wearing a worn brown flight jacket, khaki pants, and combat boots, her long red hair tied up into a messy bun.

“Is that Direwolf yours?” the woman asked, pointing back to Jon’s sleek airplane. “Not gonna land that beast anywhere north o’ here. I’m heading as far as Last Hope. I could fly you in.”

“How is it that you can land at Last Hope and I can’t?” Jon asked, eyeing the woman suspiciously.

“Oh, my little Valonqar is a floatplane. No need for a long runway, just a body of water,” the redhead replied smugly.

Jon sighed. Landing the powerful Direwolf at Craster’s had been harrowing enough, and it was the largest airport north of the Wall.

Nodding at the young pilot, Jon motioned her to lead the way.

“I’m Ygritte,” the woman smiled at him by way of introduction. “I fly cargo into Last Hope every few weeks.”

“Jon...Jon Snow,” he replied, careful not to use his real name. 

They were isolated beyond the Wall, but even here, they might have heard of Jon Stark, the heir to the Targaryen dynasty. Snow was a common enough name in the north.

“What the seven hells?” Jon gasped as Ygritte lead him to a dilapidated old floatplane. “Can that thing even fly?”

“You know nothing, Jon Snow,” she laughed. “It’ll fly. I made most of the modification myself.”

“Modified into what?” Jon said under his breath, as he climbed into the co-pilot’s seat. The little plane looked like the inanimate version of one of the undead creatures he and Sansa had fought.

Ygritte smirked at his remark before calling the tower for clearance. Meanwhile, Jon scratched at the duct tape that appeared to be the only thing holding the co-pilot’s seat together.

The small plane rattled as it rolled down the runway, before it lurched into the sky. Jon gripped the sticky armrest with white knuckles as the Valonqar circled the airport once before slowly turning north.

-oOo-

  
Daenerys scowled at the guards as they paused at the exhibit. “Leave already!” she whispered through gritted teeth.

A dry warm breeze caressed her long silver hair as she looked through the skylight from her perch on top of the museum’s roof. Below, the cold white beams of the guard’s flashlights lingered over the object of her desire, a bronze figurine of an Unsullied warrior, encrusted with jewels.

The state museum of Astapor held many treasures, but the warrior was what Daenerys wanted. The bronze figure had a broken base, engraved with dragons, and the warrior’s arms were outstretched, as if reaching for his lover. Legend said there was a second half to the sculpture: the interpreter. The lovers had been broken apart during the Essos crusades of the 11th century, the other half lost in the mists of time.

Sharp claws embedded in her gloves scraped the skylight, cutting a wide circle into the glass. When the guards finally continued their rounds, Daenerys lowered a long rope to the museum floor and gracefully slid down.

Her walk was a whisper on the marble floor as she made her way to the display case that held the bronze figure. 

The Dragon Queen typed a code for the computerized lock. She had paid Xaro Xhoan Daxos, a trader in all things illegal, two hundred gold dragons for the code. Hoping the Qartheen fence didn’t cheat her, she waited with furrowed brows as the lock began to click.

With a final tick, the door of the case popped open. Daenerys reached inside and carefully removed the figurine. The warrior looked quite handsome: his hair cut short, and his lips turned upward into a slight smile.

“Now, just what might you be so happy about?” Daenerys asked the small statue, tracing her fingers over his delicate face, before placing the bronze figure in her satchel.

With a clang, the fire doors slammed shut, and lights began to flash: off, on, off on.

“Dammit,” Daenerys growled as she ran for the rope. Looking up, she could see Jorah looking down at her.

The click of metal on metal alerted her of another presence. Turning slowly, she found herself looking into the eyes of young guard, a gun shaking in his hands.

“Keligon, gaomagon daor dīnagon!” the guard shouted, ordering her to stop.

A hiss from above their heads, followed by a swoop of wings, startled the guard. He dropped his gun and stepped backwards as a creature out of a nightmare appeared before his eyes. A young black dragon, no larger than a small dog, flew down to hover in the air between Daenerys and the guard.

Daenerys smiled haughtily as she turned to the rope, quickly climbing to the top, followed closely by the dragon.

As she reached the roof, Jorah pulled her onto it. The dragon flew up through the opening in the glass and landed on Daenerys’s shoulder.

“What a good boy you are, Drogon,” she said, scratching the small dragon’s bumpy head.

“I suggest we get out of here,” Jorah growled, leading the way to two gliders on the rooftop. The high-pitched shriek of the museum’s alarm system thundered in their ears.

“Yes,” Daenerys replied with a laugh. “Remind me to send a nasty note to Daxos. I want a refund on that code.”

Jorah merely nodded his head as he strapped himself into one of the gliders, making sure his partner was doing the same.

As they jumped off the roof into the night sky of Astapor, three small dragons flew in their wake.

-oOo-

  
The large red X blazed with a neon glow. The flayed man logo was the only symbol marking the entrance of the establishment. Shouts and squealing laugher drifted into the street from the depths of the nightclub.

Brienne shivered; however, the crisp northern night wasn’t the cause of the chill that ran down her spine. Renly had often dragged her to clubs like this, fast and wild. For Brienne, the ideal Friday night consisted of a good book in front of a roaring fire. She hated the party circuit, hated the noise and the lowered inhibitions.

She had tolerated it because of Renly; as his bodyguard she had stood behind him many nights, a scowl on her face, as women and men threw themselves at the handsome movie star. 

The club was crowded, the youth of Gotham swarming together, hoping for acceptance and acknowledgement from their peers. 

A young man in an outlandish silk suit of purple, yellow, and green checks bumped into Brienne as she followed the squad through the crowded main room.

She couldn’t help but notice when the young man’s eyes travelled up and up until they reached her face. She recognized the look: first revulsion, followed by pity and, finally, fascination.

“A beast? A giantess!” he slurred drunkenly, trying to wrap his arms around Brienne’s waist, planning to drag her onto the dance floor.

Brienne gracefully stepped out of the unwanted embrace and twisted his arm behind his back, pushing the young man into the crowd. The youth disappeared, engulfed by the swarm of dancers.

“Careful,” the Hound growled, “we don’t want to draw attention.”

“Of course we do!” Poison Ivy laughed, raising her arms and calling down a shower of petals that drifted amongst the cheering crowd. “If we want to talk to Lord Bolton, we need to attract his attention.”

Stepping onto the dance floor, Margaery began to dance suggestively. Not unlike bees, the youth of Gotham, dressed in showy garments, surrounded the flower princess.

“I was afraid our uniforms might attract unwanted attention,” Brienne mused, eyeing the outlandish outfits of the club patrons. “I see I was wrong.”

“We did attract someone’s attention,” the Hound growled, as two guards in crisp black suits and dark glasses pushed their way through the crowd.

“Lord Bolton will see you now,” the stockier of the two men shouted over the thumping club music. Bolton’s men turned and walked toward the back of the club, not bothering to look around, secure in the knowledge that no one defied the Crime Lord of Gotham.

Task Force X followed the men down a long corridor, until they finally reached a lavishly decorated office. Behind a large mahogany desk sat a rather nondescript man, icy blue eyes staring out from his pallid face. 

Roose Bolton stood, clasping his hands behind his back, his head lowered as he strolled in front of his desk to more closely consider his guests.

“Iggo Zsasz, I had believed you were either dead or in prison,” Roose Bolton said in a soft yet sinister voice, almost a whisper. “What brings you and these…fine companions to my establishment?”

They had been warned what would happen if anyone divulged the secrets of the Night’s Watch. Director Tyrell would blow the nano-bombs in their necks.

Far away in Castle Black, the director listened to their conversation through the receivers embedded in the Hound’s ear, hoping Iggo Zsasz was not crazy enough to defy her limited patience.

“I have found new employment,” was the man’s simple reply.

“Oh?” Bolton said, raising an eyebrow at his former assassin. “And who would that be?”

“They wish…to remain anonymous,” Zsasz replied curtly.

Brienne let out a nearly imperceptible breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. Roose Bolton turned his pale eyes toward her, his face remaining expressionless.

“And do these anonymous employers wish to challenge me for control of Gotham?” Bolton asked calmly, indifferently.

“We have larger concerns,” the Hound spoke up for the first time. “We only wish for information.”

“Information costs,” Bolton said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Sandor Clegane reached inside his black uniform, causing concern amongst Bolton’s men.

“Step down, Steelshanks.” The Crime Lord waved his bodyguard down.

Pulling out a large envelope, the sergeant tossed it on Bolton’s desk. It opened and several large bills spilled out. Bolton didn’t bother to look at the payment, only motioned for Steelshanks to collect the contents of the envelope.

“…and what do you wish to know?” Bolton asked.

“There have been shipments arriving in White Harbor, originating from somewhere in the far north,” Sandor said. “We need to know what is in these shipments? Who sent them? Who they are intended for?”

Lord Bolton returned to his seat behind the large desk, linking his long fingers together as he considered his guests.

“Your employers are not alone. There are many who are interested in these shipments,” Bolton mused.

“Who is interested?” the Hound gruffly said.

“That information will cost you,” Bolton replied smugly.

The Hound pulled out a second envelope, tossing it at the Crime Lord.

Looking up at the tall man, Bolton said, “Along with Gotham’s favorite masked vigilante, the Black Wolf, I have been contacted by corporate spies from LannisCorp, government officials, and…”

Bolton motioned to one of his guards, who quickly left, soon returning with a small struggling woman wearing a black and red jester’s costume.

“My son has shown an unusual interest in these deliveries,” Bolton continued. “I have questioned his…subordinate. She tells me the Joker has stolen one of these crates. I am sure he will know what is inside.”

“Harley!” Poison Ivy gasped, gliding over to the small woman and cupping her face, noticing the multiple bruises, a black eye, and welts along her jaw and neck. “Did you really have to beat the information out of her?”

“I assure you,” Lord Bolton hummed, “it was not my guards who beat this…woman.”

“Harley?” Poison Ivy asked with a heavy sigh, “The Joker, he did this. Didn’t he?”

Harley Quinn looked down at the floor, unable to meet her friend’s eyes.

“You went back to him?” Margaery exhaled. “Oh honey, why?”

“You left me alone,” Harley sniffed, raising her bruised hand to wipe snot away from her nose.

“I was arrested,” Poison Ivy replied.

“He said he was sorry,” Harley Quinn sniffed again. “He said he loved me.”

“This isn’t love, Harley,” Poison Ivy hissed.

“My son’s creature will be able to lead you to his lair,” Roose Bolton said, interrupting their exchange. “She is my gift to you.”

The Hound nodded once at the Lord of Gotham before motioning his team to leave.

“Tell your employer,” Roose Bolton stated to their retreating backs, “Gotham is mine. I want no interference from anyone…including secret government agencies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are LOVE <3


	17. The Raven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1, Bran, Meera, Jojen  
> 2\. Sansa, Theon, the Joker   
> 3\. Jon, Tormond, Ygritte, Sam

Chapter 17  
The Raven

A rumble high in the clouds drew Bran’s attention to the sky. Raising his hand to cover his eyes, blocking the bright northern sun, he spotted the small floatplane as it banked left, making a gradual turn to the northwest.

The thought occurred to Bran that flying might be an easier way to find this Three-Eyed-Raven, instead of trudging through the outback on horseback. They had already searched for over a week, travelling deeper and deeper into the primeval wilderness of the far north.

At least the stable where they rented the horses had a special saddle, which could accommodate Bran’s disability. The stable master had proudly told him many disabled veterans injured at Wyvern Point rented his horses for day trips.

As the floatplane disappeared over the horizon, Meera Reed rode up beside Bran. “There is a small pool over the next hill, near a weirwood, just like you described.”

Bran nodded as Meera galloped ahead, followed by her brother Jojen. Flicking the reins, Bran urged his horse into a trot after the siblings.

As they crested the hill, a small tree-lined valley opened up before them. At the far side, an image out of a storybook came into view, with a large weirwood tree growing from the top of a small rise. A pool shimmered at the base of the tree, its roots sinking into the deep waters.

“That’s it,” Bran gasped, as they urged the horses down into the valley.

They hadn’t made it halfway across the dell when a hideous shriek echoed through the valley. People were emerging from the forest, some dressed in ragged military uniforms, others in shredded flannel shirts and torn denim. A few wore outdated clothing from centuries past. They stumbled forward, their eyes glowing an eerie, unnatural blue.

“Zombies!” Bran shouted, as the creatures rushed toward them.

“Ride!” a voice yelled. Bran turned and saw what looked like several children emerge from between the roots of the ancient tree. Although, they had yellow eyes and their greyish-green-tinted skin had the texture of bark.

Urging their horses forward, the three youths skimmed the banks of the pool as they raced toward the giant weirwood.

The zombies were not the slow and cumbersome creatures often depicted in the movies. With shrieks and snarls the undead rushed forward, quickly catching up with the horses.

Jojen’s horse screeched as the dead clawed at its flanks, throwing the young scholar from its back and into a horde of zombies.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the words, “Not again!” emerged from Bran’s lips.

_“Leave him, you’re not the Raven anymore!”_ a strangely familiar voice shouted from inside Bran’s head.

“No, but I’m still a hero,” Bran shouted in reply to the unwelcome voice.

Bran barreled his horse into the zombies. The animal reared up and kicked several of the creatures, clearing a path for Bran to reach down and pull Jojen from amidst the undead. Before Bran could escape, his horse lurched backwards as the undead creatures clawed at its flank. 

Bran and Jojen, thrown from the back of the frightened beast, landed on the banks of the shimmering pool. Bran turned and saw the undead rushing toward them, circling the edge of the water.

“They’re afraid of the water!” Bran shouted into Jojen’s face, pushing the young scholar toward the pool.

Jojen stood and staggered toward the water’s edge, pulling Bran along with him. The pool was freezing, but not frozen, as they splashed into the water. Their teeth chattered as the two young men swam away from the bank.

An explosion near the water’s edge, where a second before Bran and Jojen had lain, caused a wave to wash over them. Bran felt his lungs burning as he broke the surface gasping for air. Turning, he saw the small childlike creatures throwing what looked like explosive pinecones at the zombies, who still milled mindlessly on banks of the pool, not willing to venture into the freezing waters.

A second splash sounded as Meera dove into the water, swimming to the middle of the pool to pull her brother and Bran to safety. One of the small childlike creatures lead the three youths through a door hidden amongst the roots of the tree.

“What are you?” Bran said, coughing water from his lungs.

“They’re the Children of the Forest,” Jojen said.The small creature stared at him, tilting her head in confusion, before she motioned them to follow her deeper into the cavern.

“Those things?” Meera asked, looking back at the door.

“Wights,” the forest spirit said. “They are wights. They can not follow us. The door is protected by powerful magic.”

“Who are you?” Bran asked, as Meera and Jojen carried him further down the long dark tunnel. 

“My name is Leaf,” she said, turning to look at the three young humans. 

Leaf seemed to shudder slightly as she looked at Jojen, before continuing down the maze of narrow tunnels. The ceiling of the natural passage was a jungle of roots holding the dirt of the hillside in place.

They finally emerged into a large cavern, and on the far side sat the oldest man Bran had ever seen. Deep canyons lined his wrinkled face, and his long white beard twisted into the roots of the weirwood.

The man turned glassy eyes toward the three youths. The old man’s face remained emotionless, until his eyes fell on the young scholar. “Jojen Reed,” the ancient man gasped, “you are alive!”

“It was close,” Jojen began. “Thanks to the Children…”

“No, I mean…” the old man began and then stopped. His face twisted in a manner that indicated he was unused to showing human emotion. “My Jojen…he didn’t make it passed the wights at the door.”

“Your Jojen?” Bran inquired. “I don’t understand any of this. Who are you?”

The old man turned his head toward Bran. “I am the Three-Eyed-Raven. In a way, I am also you, Brandon Stark, or at least I used to be. Three thousand years ago, I was Brandon Stark.”

-o0o-

The bones in Sansa’s wrist broke with a disturbing snap as her limp left hand slipped from the bindings that held her tied to the table. She winced but didn’t scream as she untied her other hand and feet. Slipping from the table, she silently crept to the door.

Theon had run from the chamber. She was sure he would go straight to the Joker, to tell his master her secret identity. She had to escape before the Joker found out she was Lady Wolf.

Ripping a piece of fabric from the bottom of her skirt, she wrapped her broken wrist before holding her breath and opening the door. The passageway beyond was dark and empty. Sansa stayed in the shadows as she edged down the corridor.

She passed several locked rooms, until she found an open door. Slipping inside the darkened room, she was startled when a light flickered alive from a shadowy corner.

“Well, well,” a wild laugh echoed through the small room. The Joker sat in a high wingback chair holding a small lantern. Its flame flickered, illuminating the dead spaces of the room. Theon Greyjoy, Reek, stood behind the Joker, his eyes cast downward.

“My crony Reek here has told me the most interesting story.” The Joker laughed, standing up and handing the lantern to Reek.

“A story about…secrets…the secrets of wolves.” The Joker did a little dance as he giggled, holding his stomach and wiping a tear from his eye. “It would appear I captured a wolf in sheep’s clothing...”

Sansa didn’t wait to hear the rest of the tale, launching at the crazed villain, aiming a kick toward his taunting face.

The Joker dodged with unnatural speed and a sinister laugh. “Opp…too slow.”

Ramsey Bolton spun, pinning Sansa’s arms behind her back. The Joker leaned forward and whispered in her hair, his hot breath washing over her face, “And to think, I only thought to kidnap the police commissioner’s daughter…”

Sansa cut short the villainous monologue by head butting the Joker, knocking him backwards. Spinning around, she crouched into a defensive posture, waiting for the evil clown to continue his attack.

Lady Wolf was fast, but so was the Joker. Evenly matched, he blocked all of her blows. Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa saw Reek moving. The distraction was enough for Ramsey Bolton to gain the upper hand, grabbing the Lady Wolf by her injured paw and twisting. Sansa fell to her knees with a cry of pain. Believing she was already dead, Sansa looked up into the Joker’s smirking face, just as he burst into flames.

“Reek!” the Joker roared, as the flames spread over his body. “You dare! I will make you pay for this.”

Reek paused in fear, shaking as he stared at the image of the Joker rolling on the floor.

“Theon?” Sansa gasped, clutching his arm.

Her voice snapped Theon out of his trace; he hauled Sansa to her feet and dragged her from the room.

-o0o-

Jon’s uncle, Nedd Stark, the police commissioner of White Harbor, always wore a tie and long trench coat while he worked. His wife wouldn’t allow him out of the house unless he looked the part, looked professional. All the officers in the WHPD looked the part: clean cut, neatly dressed in crisp uniforms. Even the officers Jon knew were on Roose Bolton’s payroll.

That is why the person who looked up from a plate of wolverine guts at the Last Hope Diner was such a surprise. The scruffy, red-haired sheriff didn’t look like Jon’s image of a police officer. His hair was too long, his beard unkempt and wild. The man’s wrinkled tan uniform had grease stains down the front, and it looked like he had never even seen a tie, let alone worn one.

“Sheriff Giantsbane?” Jon asked reticently.

“Aye,” the man replied, eyeing the man standing before him. “We don’t get many southerners up here.”

“I’m from White Harbor. That is hardly southern,” Jon replied tersely.

The large man bellowed in laughter. “If it’s south of the Wall, it’s southern. Now what can I do for you, son?”

“Edd Tollett sent me,” Jon replied, noticing the change in the sheriff’s expression after he mentioned the government agent’s name. “Is there a place we can talk in private?”

The sheriff nodded and pushed the plate of greyish guts away, standing up from the diner’s worn counter. “My office.”

The city hall of Last Hope doubled as the morgue and police station. Tormund led Jon into a dusty office with a single desk cluttered with papers and old take out containers from the diner.

The sheriff motioned Jon to one of the guest chairs as he settled behind his cluttered desk.

“And who might you be? And what do you know about those strange southerners who disrupted my quiet valley?” Tormund said, straight to the point.

Dolorous Edd had told Jon the man in front of him could be trusted, that they had worked together in army intelligence during the war. Jon wouldn’t divulge all his secrets; the sheriff didn’t need to know he was the Black Wolf. However, the man deserved to know what had descended on his sleepy little valley.

“My name is Jon Snow,” Jon replied. “I have worked with Agent Tollett in the past...uncovering mysteries that wished to remain secret.”

“Well, that is what we have here,” Tormund chuckled. “A mystery. What have you found?”

Jon repeated what Agent Tollett had told him, about the Night’s Watch and Castle Black and how theses secrets reached to the very top of power in King’s Landing. How, unlike popular belief, the Night’s Watch had never been disbanded and it was again recruiting criminals to do its dirty work.

Much to Jon’s surprise, the sheriff laughed. “The Crows are back, huh? Back to try and intimidate us Wildlings.”

“Not just here…” Jon started to say.

“That is classified information,” a plump man in a black uniform and maester’s chain interrupted their exchange.

Jon turned around to look at the strange man as he entered the office flanked by two stern looking guards wearing the same black uniform.

“And who are you supposed to be?” Tormund asked, rising to his feet.

The fleshy man turned to his two guards. “Wait outside please.”

The guards looked like they wanted to protest, thought differently, and stepped outside, shutting the door behind them.

The stranger considered Jon and Tormund before strolling farther into the room and sitting down. “I am Lieutenant Samwell Tarly…of the Night’s Watch.”

“You mean, you’re a Crow!” Tormund thundered, before laughing. “Funny, you don’t look like a thing of nightmares.”

Tarly didn’t even flinch as the sheriff laughed, remaining silent until the taller man finished his belly laugh.

“Sheriff Giantsbane,” the lieutenant said calmly, “you were an agent in the intelligence service. I am sure you understand the meaning of top secret and security clearance.”

“Not when it comes to my valley,” the Sheriff said gruffly, eyeing the chubby crow. “And how do you know I was in army intelligence?”

“You would be surprised at what we know in the Night’s Watch,” Samwell Tarly said, turning two brown eyes toward Jon. “We all have secrets. Isn’t that right, Mr. Stark? Or should I call you...Black Wolf?”

Jon remained outwardly calm and merely nodded at the fat crow. “It would appear.”

Tormund watched the exchange with interest, noting every detail.

“Now that we know each other's secrets, I believe we should work together,” the black-clad figure said.

“Together? Your agents slaughtered a Thenn village north of here,” Tormund growled. “Sure, they were anti-social malcontents, but they didn’t deserve…”

“I assure you, we did not slaughter that village,” Sam replied. “There are troubling rumors from the high Frost Fangs, reports of the return of the Night King.”

Tormund stared into the eyes of the dark crow, before dismissing his claim. “Another myth used to scare little Wildlings.”

“I assure you, he is not a myth,” Sam replied seriously. “Although we do not yet know if the real Night King has somehow returned or if he is just a pretender using the name to strike fear in the population.”

“You mean to say the Night King was a real person?” Jon asked. He also remembered hearing the stories as a child and, like Tormund, Jon assumed they were fairy tales, used to strike fear in the hearts of unruly children.

Lieutenant Tarly nodded. “He was real enough, although as I said before, we do not know if the creature inhabiting the Frost Fangs is a meta pretender or the real thing. Every team we have sent in to investigate, except one, has met with an unsavory end.”

“Every team, except the one led by the Kingslayer?” Jon growled.

“He wasn’t leading the team,” Sam answered, “but yes, his team did return with valuable intel.”

“What intel?” Jon asked, leaning forward to eye the large crow.

“Enough to know the Night King has sent crates containing wights to most of the main ports in the realm,” Sam replied, turning to Jon. “I believe you have two of these crates in your possession.”

“The zombies,” Jon nodded. “We captured them while they were being smuggled into White Harbor.”

“Zombies?” asked Tormund with a smirk. “Seriously?”

“Not zombies,” Sam replied, turning to the sheriff. “Wights, created by combining ancient magic and technology.”


	18. The Killing Joke II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1, Bran, the Three-Eyed-Raven  
> 2, The Joker, the Hound, Brienne, Poison Ivy, Zsasz, Arya  
> 3, Jaime, Myrcella, Darkstar, Bronn

Chapter 18  
The Killing Joke II

Bran, Jojen, and Meera sat in a circle in front of the old man. The Three-Eyed-Raven had fallen into a deep trance shortly after they arrived and had not stirred for several hours.

“How long will he remain like this?” Meera asked the forest spirit, as Leaf arrived carrying a bowl of berries for them to share.

Leaf shrugged her thin shoulders. “Hours, days, years sometimes. We do not really keep track of time here.”

Suddenly, with a grizzled snort, the Three-Eyed-Raven emerged from his trance. He stared at the three youths for a moment before remembering their purpose. Reaching forward, he lightly touched Jojen Reed’s face before turning to Bran. “You have much to learn, Brandon Stark.”

“Can you fix me?” Bran asked. “Will I be able to walk again?”

The Three-Eyed-Raven smiled, looking down at his own legs. Bran realized that he hadn’t seen the old man move his legs.

“No, Brandon Stark.” The Three-Eyed-Raven repeated something he himself had heard thousands of years ago, “But you will fly.”

Reaching forward, the old man took Bran’s hand. “I have much to show you.”

Bran’s eyes glossed over to an icy white, his head snapping backwards. 

Meera jumped up, intent on breaking the contact between Bran and the old man.

Leaf laid a small hand on her arm. “It’s alright. They are in a vision. It may be awhile. Come, I will show you around the cavern.”

As Jojen and Meera followed Leaf farther into the tunnels, Bran fell through space and time.

Bran raised his arm to cover his eyes from the bright sun. Finally opening them, he found himself standing in the ruin of Winterfell. He was met by two surprises; the first was the castle wasn’t lying in ruins. It was whole and bustling with activity. The second was that he stood on his own feet; looking down, he saw he was wearing his Raven costume.

Turning to his left, he saw the Three-Eyed-Raven, although the old man didn’t appear as ancient as he had in the cavern. His dark hair was still lightly streaked with grey, and the man wore a short beard also speckled with grey. The Three-Eyed-Raven’s eyes shined clear and brown and, although he was still an old man, he wasn’t ancient.

“Where…or rather when are we?” Bran asked, looking at the old man.

“You are clever, Brandon Stark,” the Three-Eyed-Raven said. “We have returned to my home, to Winterfell, three thousand years ago, the day my world began to unravel.”

“Sansa?” Bran asked, spotting a young girl, still a teenager, who looked surprisingly like his sister, only much younger. 

The girl was dressed in a long dress and stood next to several other children Bran didn’t recognize, and one he did: his ten-year-old self.

“We were so much younger last time,” the Three-Eyed-Raven mused, as he looked at the family gathering before them.

Bran turned around. He recognized many of the faces: classmates from college, officers who worked with his father, and neighborhood friends.

“My family, on the day King Robert came to Winterfell to ask my father to be Hand of the King,” the Three-Eyed-Raven said.

“How can that be?” Bran shook his head.

“Look,” the Three-Eyed-Raven pointed to a sullen young man standing in the back of the crowd.

“Jon?” Bran said. “He is here, too.”

“The wheel has turned,” the old man said, “and has returned to its starting point.”

“I still don’t understand,” Bran said in annoyance.

“Queen Daenerys once said she wanted to break the wheel,” the Three-Eyed-Raven pondered, more to himself than to Bran. “She never knew she had failed. She died believing she had succeeded. Most of the survivors of the Long Night died believing they had succeeded.”

The Three-Eyed-Raven walked around the rushing servants and retainers, who ignored him as if he wasn’t there. The girl who looked like Sansa stared straight through the old man. Bran realized the people in the castle couldn’t see him or the Three-Eyed-Raven.

The old greenseer turned to look back at Bran. “I feared we had failed. That is why I stayed behind, after everyone else left this world. Most died violently.”

The old man reached out and touched his Sansa’s face, and the young girl tried unsuccessfully to brush his hand away. _They can’t see us, but we can interact with them, _Bran realized.__

__“Some of them died in old age, believing we had won,” the Three-Eyed-Raven said._ _

__A young girl wearing a cone-shaped helmet ran up to the gathered group of ancient Starks. The man that looked like Bran’s father laughed and asked, “What are you doing with that on?” before taking the helmet and handing it back to the man who stood directly behind him._ _

__“Arya,” the Three-Eyed-Raven sighed, “my little sister.”_ _

__“I don’t have a little sister,” Bran said._ _

__The Three-Eyed-Raven smiled. “But she lives again. I felt her presence when she roared into this world.”_ _

__“So everyone has returned,” Bran was starting to understand, “in one form or another, to break this wheel, the one you failed to break.”_ _

__The old man nodded. “Not all of them, but many have, yes.”_ _

__“But, if you’re Brandon Stark,” Bran asked, “if we are the reincarnations of our past selves, how can I be here? You are still alive.”_ _

__The Three-Eyed-Raven chuckled. “Reincarnation is too simple an explanation for what has happened.”_ _

__They watched as a carriage pulled into the courtyard. A large man, who looked like a fatter version of the Prime Minister, Robert Baratheon, rode forward on a fine stallion. All the people assembled dropped to their knees._ _

__As the man, the King, walked over to the Lord of Winterfell, Bran scanned the courtyard. The Queen had exited the carriage. She looked surprisingly like the First Lady of Westeros._ _

__“They were married in the past,” Bran said. That would mean they spent more than one lifetime together. _They must truly be in love, _Bran thought to himself. _Sansa would find that romantic. _______

______The ten-year-old Brandon Stark suddenly announced, “That’s Jaime Lannister, the Queen’s twin brother,” before being shushed by his older sister._ _ _ _ _ _

______Bran turned and saw a tall knight take off his helmet, shaking out his shoulder-length golden hair._ _ _ _ _ _

______“The Kingslayer!” Bran clenched his fist in rage on seeing the villain who had pushed him from the LannisCorp building._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Jaime Lannister was called the Kingslayer in my time as well,” the Three-Eyed-Raven said, stepping up behind Bran. “In time, you will learn to forgive him, like I did.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“I will never forgive him,” Bran said curtly, staring into the emerald eyes of the knight._ _ _ _ _ _

______The Three-Eyed-Raven only nodded, taking Bran’s hand as the scene rippled and disappeared._ _ _ _ _ _

______Bran was once again lying on the cold floor of the cavern; the ancient Three-Eyed-Raven blinked rapidly as his eyes came into focus._ _ _ _ _ _

______The old man looked down at Bran and said simply, “that is enough for today. I grow tired. I am three thousand years old, after all.”______

___-o0o-_ _ _

___Brienne pulled into the abandoned amusement park, the lair of the Joker. After putting the SUV in park, everyone piled out of the crowded vehicle: the Hound first, followed by Brienne, Arya, Zsasz, and Margaery Tyrell, with her arm wrapped around Harley Quinn’s shoulders lending support to the trembling woman._ _ _  
  


______“It’s okay, Harley.” Poison Ivy patted the frightened woman’s hand. “He can’t hurt you, ever again.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Harley turned blank eyes to her friend. “Why would he hurt me? Mr. J loves me.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Pushing a code into the keypad near the door, Harley paused before pushing the door open. She quickly ducked inside, slamming the door in their faces._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Dammit,” the Hound roared. “I knew we couldn’t trust her.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Now what…” Brienne started to say._ _ _ _ _ _

______Before she could finish her thought, the large marine pulled out his machine gun and blasted the door, the lock, and anyone who happened to be standing on the other side._ _ _ _ _ _

______The door hung off its hinges. Pushing open the broken door, Task Force X emerged into a nightmare maze. Loud laughter surrounded them as they walked down a long corridor filled with flashing lights._ _ _ _ _ _

______Entering a large room at the end of the maze, they found the Joker at the top of a flight of stairs, slouching in a high-backed chair._ _ _ _ _ _

______The Clown Prince’s face, blackened with burns, scowled down at them. Harley Quinn was fussing around him like a bee, trying to rub a salve into his burns._ _ _ _ _ _

______“What have you brought me Harley?” The Joker smiled down at them._ _ _ _ _ _

______“They want the crate from the port Mr. J,” Harley answered, fluttering around Gotham’s clown prince._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Do they now?” The Joker turned cold blue eyes toward the Suicide Squad. “Well, I’m afraid we are little busy at the moment. One of my little chickens has flown the coop.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“We aren’t asking!” the Hound said, pointing his machine gun at the insane clown._ _ _ _ _ _

______The Joker snickered, stood up, and walked slowly down the stairs toward the Hound. Leaning his head into the barrel of the gun, he laughed. “It would appear you have me at your mercy.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______The Joker laughed and waved his hand toward the back room, and several men dressed as clowns and circus people rushed forward._ _ _ _ _ _

______Harley stood at the top of the stairs, laughing and clapping her hands together, jumping for joy._ _ _ _ _ _

______Task Force X took the Joker’s underlings out quickly. Several fell to the Hound’s machine gun before they had even reached the middle of the room._ _ _ _ _ _

______Arya jumped into the air and kicked a fat acrobat in the jaw, sending him staggering backwards._ _ _ _ _ _

______Brienne flipped her retractable sword just in time to block a blow from a giant clown dressed in an orange ruffled tutu._ _ _ _ _ _

______Poison Ivy threw several seeds into the air, which quickly grew into small plant creatures that scuttled across the floor to engulf a tall lion tamer, who screamed as the plants tore him apart._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Enough!” the Joker shouted._ _ _ _ _ _

______“But Mr. J…?” Harley started to ask._ _ _ _ _ _

______The Joker turned to Harley, his face twisting in rage. He punched her in the face, sending her flying backwards. Harley Quinn hit the wall and crumpled to the floor._ _ _ _ _ _

______Poison Ivy tried to reach her friend, but the large hand of Sandor Clegane clamped down on her shoulder._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Don’t get involved,” he ordered sternly, turning to the Joker. “Are we through with this nonsense?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Yes, yes,” the Joker said, waving his hand in the air. Turning to the clown in the orange tutu, he said, “Get the crate.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______The large man limped out of the door, returning a few minutes later carrying a large crate on his back._ _ _ _ _ _

______“The invoice?” the Hound growled._ _ _ _ _ _

______The Joker signed and dug in his long purple coat, tossing out a rubber chicken, a feather pen, and several silk handkerchiefs before finding the invoice, which he folded into a paper airplane and tossed at the Hound’s head._ _ _ _ _ _

______Clegane didn’t even flinch as the airplane bounced off his brow and fluttered to the floor. Arya scooped up the folded paper and shoved it into her pocket._ _ _ _ _ _

______“It was a pleasure doing business with ya,” the Hound scoffed as he picked up the large crate._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Take it and leave,” the Joker sneered. “I don’t have time for you anyway.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Harley?” Poison Ivy asked, stepping toward her friend. “You don’t have to stay. Come with us.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Harley Quinn looked from Margaery to the Joker and back to Margaery, before lowering her eyes to the floor and shaking her head._ _ _ _ _ _

______The Joker watched the exchange with interest before draping his leg over the armrest of the chair, throwing his head back and laughing._ _ _ _ _ _

______His laughter followed Task Force X as they made their way out of the fun house.______

___-o0o-_ _ _

___Blood covered Jaime’s hands. He held his daughter’s head in his lap as Bronn worked on her wounds. Myrcella, wide-eyed and frightened, stared into her father’s eyes as she gasped for air._ _ _  
  


______“Will she live?” Darkstar asked curtly from behind Jaime._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I stopped the bleeding and the bandage will hold for now,” Bronn said, looking up at Jaime. “But we need to get her to a maester.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Why bother?” Darkstar said indifferently, before noticing the expression on Jaime’s face. “Look, I’m sorry about the girl, but our mission...”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Turning to Darkstar, Bronn said calmly, “If she dies, we won’t be able to collect the reward from her father. In that case, we would expect full payment from the Sand Snakes, paid in advance.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Ignoring the dirty look Jaime shot at him, Bronn stared at Darkstar until the Dornishman began to fidget._ _ _ _ _ _

______“There’s a town a few miles away, but we will never make it in time, not in that old piece of shit, especially in this heat,” Darkstar said, motioning to the old van._ _ _ _ _ _

______“What about their vehicle?” Bronn asked, motioning the dead Dornish freedom fighters._ _ _ _ _ _

______Darkstar looked around and spotted Daryl Manwoody’s car, a bright red Viper; the sports car certainly looked fast._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Maybe,” Darkstar said, as he riffled through Manwoody’s pockets, discovering a keychain shaped like a skull and wearing a crown. It was covered in Manwoody’s blood._ _ _ _ _ _

______Jaime carried Myrcella to the sports car and gently placed her in the back seat, climbing in beside her and laying her head on his lap._ _ _ _ _ _

______Darkstar jumped into the front seat, tossing Bronn the keys to the van. “Meet us in town.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______The Viper roared alive, and Darkstar sped out of the lot with a loud squeal. Turning north, they thundered down the freeway._ _ _ _ _ _

______The sports car was overheating by the time they reached the town. It shuddered a few times and finally stalled in front of the maester’s office._ _ _ _ _ _

______Darkstar ran ahead to fetch the maester as Jaime carried Myrcella from the vehicle. Within moments, a female maester rushed out of the office, followed by Darkstar._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Quickly,” the woman said, motioning Jaime inside._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Can you save her?” Jaime asked, hovering behind the maester as she examined Myrcella’s wounds._ _ _ _ _ _

______The maester looked to her nurse, her eyes motioning to the door._ _ _ _ _ _

______The nurse took Jaime’s arm, looking up at him with sympathy, leading him from the operating room. “Let the maester work.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______An hour later, the maester appeared at the door of the operating room, covered in blood, and motioned for Jaime to follow her._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Are you the girl’s father?” the woman asked, having noticed their resemblance._ _ _ _ _ _

______Jaime nodded his head. “Is she?…will she live?” he asked, pacing back and forth across the maester’s office._ _ _ _ _ _

______“She is in stable condition. The wound was deep. Whoever triaged her most likely saved her life,” the maester replied, “but I’m afraid there will be significant scarring.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Relief washed over him as Jaime collapsed into a chair. Closing his eyes, he let his head fall backwards against the back of the chair._ _ _ _ _ _

______“This was a deliberate injury,” the maester continued. “I will need to file a report with the authorities. I’m sure they will want to question you.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Jaime just nodded._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Although, the constabularies can wait. I suggest you get a cup of coffee at the diner across the street,” the maester said sympathetically. “We can reach you there if her condition changes.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Jaime found Bronn and Darkstar waiting outside and followed them to the diner._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I have already called Princess Arianne. She will clear things up with the local authorities,” Darkstar said coolly as they waited in the dinner. “As soon as Miss Baratheon is fit to travel, we can be on our way.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Jaime shuddered, ready to jump up and slam the arrogant Dornishman’s head into the table._ _ _ _ _ _

______Bronn jabbed his finger into Jaime’s side, warning him to remain quiet. They had to maintain their cover as hardened assassins._ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are <3


	19. Bud and Lou

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1, Sansa, Theon  
> 2, Missandei, Greyworm  
> 3, Bran, The Three-Eyed-Raven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because my laptop has seen better days, it is a zombie now, the next update might be a little late. I have been promised a new laptop for Christmas, but that is still a week away.

Chapter 19  
Bud and Lou

The darkness of the riverfront had given Theon and Sansa some cover as they crawled through an opening in the fence surrounding the abandoned amusement park.

Crouching down, they looked over the parking lot that separated the amusement park from the forest. A lone SUV sat parked in the lot.

Suddenly the lights flickered on in the park; several of the older neon bulbs burst with loud explosions. A howl in the distance made Theon jump and shake violently.

“Dogs?” Sansa moaned.

“Bud and Lou,” Theon shook his head and replied. “The Joker’s pet hyenas, bloodthirsty and vicious.”

“We have to make a run for it,” Sansa said, looking up at the full moon overhead.

“They will see us,” Reek moaned, holding his head in his shaking hands.

“It’s better than being torn apart by hyenas,” Sansa replied, laying her hand on Theon’s shoulder and watching as the bank of clouds moved toward the moon.

“Now! Go, go go!” Sansa hissed when the clouds eclipsed the moon, throwing the parking lot into shadow.

Staying low and sprinting for the cover of the forest, they didn’t stop until they had passed under the trees.

“The river road is just west of here,” Sansa gasped. “We can flag down a passing motorist.”

Theon nodded and followed Sansa through the thick trees. They almost reached the road before they heard the cackle and growls of the hyenas closing in on them.

“Get to the road,” Theon whispered harshly. “I will try to lead them away.”

“Theon no…” Sansa groaned, clasping his arm. “We stay together!”

“Sansa go!’ Theon said, shaking off her hand and pushing her toward the road.

Sansa watched him run toward the sound of their pursuers before heading toward the road.

Theon crashed through the underbrush, making as much noise as he could, hoping the hyenas would follow their ears instead of their noses.

Heading down a forested path, he ran straight into several of Ramsey’s men and Bud and Lou. The hyenas snapped and snarled at him, straining against their leashes.

“Where is Sansa Stark?” a clown holding an old blunderbuss snarled, pointing the archaic gun toward Theon.

“She fell and twisted her ankle. I left her back in the park,” Theon lied. “She is probably still there.”

Suddenly the two hyenas lunged forward. Blunderbuss sneered at Theon and followed the hyenas.

They caught Sansa at the side of the road. Dropping into a defensive crouch, she waited for the men and hyenas to attack.

The Joker’s men stopped a few feet away, and Theon caught up to them a moment later.

“I can’t wait to see what the Joker plans for you,” Blunderbuss laughed in Theon’s face.

Suddenly headlights blinded Sansa, Theon, and the clowns as an SUV sped past. The vehicle screeched to a stop a few feet down the road.

“Be on your way!” Blunderbuss shouted as five shapes piled out of the SUV. “Nothing to see here!”

“Funny, I see a bunch of fucking clowns causing trouble,” the Hound snarled as the rest of Suicide Squad pulled out their weapons, rushing toward the startled clowns.

-o0o-

_I used to want to save the world,_ Missandei’s thoughts turned to the past. _Such a beautiful world._ From the precipice of a high cliff, she stared out across the vast sea.

The island of Naath, the world believed it destroyed shortly after the Long Night. The Island of Butterflies engulfed by a giant tidal wave; at least that is what the rest of the world believed. 

A large black and white butterfly fluttered passed Missandei’s face. Reaching out, she let the insect land on her open palm. Once, the butterflies had protected the island from invasion, protected the Naathi from the slaver’s ships, until one day they no longer did. The plague the butterflies carried had died out, and soon the slavers returned. 

Her Queen, Daenerys, tried to stop the slavers, but she couldn’t. She had to rebuild Westeros after the War of the Long Night. Instead, the queen had sent a small contingent of Unsullied warriors and Missandei, her friend and most trusted advisor.

Missandei had returned to her home to find her island under attack. She taught her people to fight, as Greyworm had taught her, before he had died a violent death at the hands of the Night King’s army.

A single tear rolled down Missandei’s cheek. She missed him. After all these years, she still missed him.

The Naathi had, at first, held the slavers at bay. However, at heart they were a peaceful people and grew tired of the senseless violence. Using the last of the world’s magic, the greenseers of Naath transported their island into the multiverse, to an empty world. A peaceful world devoid of humans, where slave ships had never appeared over the horizon.

The side effect of the magic was time on the island moved at a much slower pace. The island had lived, she had lived, while all her friends, her queen…Daenerys and all her friends had grown old and died.

Occasionally when the magic dimmed, they caught sight of the other worlds in the multiverse. Worlds where the Long Night never happened, worlds where the Night King won, worlds where dragons and magic never existed, and their own world, as it moved through time, century after century. The greenseers would look into their scrying bowls only to find, on every world humans existed, wars, famine, disease, the cruelty of petty dictators, and the suffering of the masses.

The magic that had pulled the island from the world shimmered in the distance. The spell was weakening again. Maybe it was time to rejoin the human race.

The barrier flickered violently. As Missandei watched, a crack opened in the sky. She didn’t know the word sonic boom, but she heard it as the deafening roar broke across the island. 

A silvery winged object fell through the crack in the barrier. _A dragon?_ A stream of white billowy material shot out of the object mere moments before it crashed into the sea, exploding in a large fireball. Like a leaf in the wind, the material fluttered down, landing in the water a short distance from the burning wreckage.

Without thinking, Missandei jumped off the precipice and into the sea, swimming toward the white material floating on the surface of the water. Reaching her destination, Missandei looked down into the clear water. Below, a man struggled in the long cords connecting him to the silky white fabric.

Hauling the struggling figure to the surface, she cut away the cords binding him to the silky fabric and pulled him to shore.

Kneeling down next to the strange man, Missandei looked for injuries. The man was unconscious but otherwise unhurt. His clothing was dark grey. When Missandei touched the fabric, it felt strange, almost waxy, under her fingertips; water slid off the material, leaving the fabric dry to the touch. On the right breast of the black uniform, under a pair of silver dragon wings, was a single word. Missandei recognized the language as Westerosi.

“Grey?” Missandei read the word aloud, running her fingers along the letters.

The man jolted suddenly, causing Missandei to look up to his face, hidden by a large round helmet. It looked like a Westerosi knight’s helmet, although the front was made of glass so dark Missandei could see her own reflection.

She had been around enough Westerosi knights and easily figured out how to the buckles worked. Unlatching the straps, she pulled the helmet from his head.

“Greyworm!” she gasped as she saw the young man’s face, her eyes blurred with tears.

Wiping away her tears Missandei reached out and tentatively touched the side of his face, he felt warm, alive. He couldn’t be here. He was dead. She had cried over Greyworm’s corpse when they brought him back to Winterfell. She had stood next to her queen as they burned his broken body. They had burned all the dead then, lest they rise in the night to add to their number. _Would his eyes glow blue when they opened?_ She trembled at the thought.

To her relief, when his eyes fluttered open, they were a deep, warm brown. The man reached up and grabbed her hand. “Where am I?” he asked in Westerosi. She recognized his voice, even though he lacked the thick Essos accent.

“Greyworm?” Missandei asked in a hoarse whisper, studying the man’s face. She knew in her soul that it was him; somehow after all these years, he had returned to her.

“What?” the man asked. “How could you…?” Shaking his head, he struggled to sit. He rested his arms on his bent knees and looked at her in confusion.

“Grey,” he finally said. “Second Lieutenant Wilner Grey, United Kingdoms of Westeros Royal Air Corps, serial number 84-65-13-91.”

Missandei sat back on her knees and looked at the young man. “What does that even mean?” she asked with a chuckle.

Wilner Grey looked at her for a moment before a smile spread across his face, “Seven hells if I know,” he replied and threw his head back and laughed.

-o0o-

The War of the Long Night raged below the shattered walls of Winterfell. Bran stood on the ramparts of the ancient castle, white knuckles grasping the crumbling stone of the walls, as a scene straight out of an epic movie played out before his eyes.

The sounds gripped his soul—the shrieks of the dead, the shouts of the living. The ringing of metal on metal as sword met sword. The last two dragons roared deafeningly as they rained fire down on the battlefield, red and blue.

The Three-Eyed-Raven stood beside Bran; the man hadn’t moved in hours, standing still as he watched his family and friends fight and die on the field below. A single tear had rolled down the old man’s face as his sister Arya, now a grown woman, fell below a wave of wights clawing and slashing her skin. 

Above, the dragons circled each other in a deadly dance. Fire and Ice, illuminating the battlefield in red and blue flame. The smaller green and bronze dragon crashed into the blue beast, gripping the creature’s wings in his teeth and shedding the delicate webbing.

The undead dragon thundered as it fell from the sky. The green and bronze dragon dove down after his broken brother.

The ground shook as the blue dragon crashed to the frozen earth. Blue flame engulfed wights and humans alike as the undead dragon struggled to regain the sky. The Night King slid from the beast’s back a mere moment before the creature’s brother’s claws and fangs ripped into it, finally ending its reign of terror.

Bran saw Jon before the Night King noticed his mortal enemy. The northern King raised his Valyrian steel blade and swung. The deadly specter barely had time to block Jon’s first blow. The sound of their blades clashing was lost in the roar of the battlefield.

Several white walkers attempted to reach the clash of kings. However, standing back to back, two tall warriors blocked their path. Stab, parry, thrust. As each white walker fell, so did many of the wights, turning to ash and drifting on the wind above the field.

One mistake, a momentary lapse in concentration, tired muscles with nothing left to give. First, one of the warriors fell, an icy blade lodged in his chest. The second warrior’s knees buckled, sinking beside their fallen companion and removing the dying man’s helmet. 

“The Kingslayer,” Bran’s brow furrowed. He would recognize the meta-human villain anywhere. Although in this lifetime, Jaime Lannister wasn’t a meta, wasn’t even a supervillain, just a dishonored knight.

Ripping off her own helmet, Brienne of Tarth’s pale blond hair blew in the wind, tears falling unhindered as she held the broken body of the Kingslayer to her chest.

A white walker rose before them. Brienne didn’t move, never taking her eyes off Jaime’s face as an icy sword plunged through her back.

Bran searched the battlefield until he again found Jon; the young king still battled the Night King. The King of the North staggered backwards as the Night King drove his blade through Jon’s shoulder.

“Jon!” Bran shouted from on top of the battlements. This isn’t how it was supposed to end.

Bran watched in horror as the Night King turned, ethereal blue eyes burning as he looked up to the battlements where Bran and the Three-Eyed-Raven stood. 

The Night King pulled his blade from Jon’s shoulder, kicking the King of the North as he stepped over Jon’s shattered body.

The undead specter raised his sword, his blue eyes locked with Bran’s, as he continued to walk toward the visitors in time. An unnerving scream thundered across the battlefield.

Bran covered his ears, wanted the sound to stop and then…it did.

The Night King suddenly froze, looking down in disbelief at the sword jutting out of his chest. Jon’s last dying act: driving his sword through the Night King’s undead heart. 

The Night King exploded in a cloud of icy shards, the white walkers dissolved into mist, and the remaining wights followed their masters, collapsing, shrieking as they turned to ash.

“You never know the value of something,” the Three-Eyed-Raven said forlornly, “until you pay the price.”

“What price did you pay?” Bran asked.

“Everything,” the old man simply replied. “Jon, Arya, Sam, Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne....”

The Three-Eyed-Raven closed his eyes as the world drifted away, replaced by the eerie silence of the cavern.

The only sound Bran could make was a low croak, from the throat of his real body, dry and unaccustomed to talking.

The Three-Eyed-Raven had led him through a whirlwind of timelines. Bran witnessed the many parallels from today to events from three thousand years ago.

“It’s all happening again?” Bran sniffed through tears. “Jon will die, and Arya, the Kingslayer…?”

Bran turned and noticed the Three-Eyed-Raven wasn’t looking at him. Turning to follow the old man’s gaze, Bran spotted Jojen Reed, using his phone to record Leaf as the forest spirit enchanted more of the exploding pinecones.

“I used to think so,” the Three-Eyed-Raven replied softly.

“But you don’t anymore?” Bran asked, turning back to the old man.

The Three-Eyed-Raven shook his head and actually smiled. “Jojen lives, so does my…your father and…Hodor, he isn’t here with you.”

“Hodor?” Bran asked in confusion. “I don’t know a...wait do you mean Willis Hodor?”

The Three-Eyed-Raven nodded. “Hodor accompanied us north. He died saving us... Meera and me.”

“Officer Willis,” Bran said, “was father’s first partner on the force.”

Bran barely remembered the large beat cop. He had retired from the police force and moved to Oldtown to live with his daughter Nan, a writer of especially scary children’s stories, when Bran was only nine years old. All Bran could remember of the large friendly man was he talked a lot.

The Three-Eyed-Raven actually smiled when Bran told him about officer Willis Hodor. 

“I always felt guilty about Hodor,” the Three-Eyed-Raven said. “I am glad he has escaped his previous fate.”

“Maybe we all will,” Bran said hopefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are LOVE


	20. Lost in Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1, Missandei  
> 2, Jon, Sam  
> 3, Brienne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I am late on this chapter, my laptop is still dead. The next few chapter may be a few days late as well, hopefully I should get back to schedule soon.
> 
> Thanks to Sea Spirit for a quick turnaround on proofing this chapter.

The moon drifted across the cloudless night sky, casting the island of Naath in a silvery glow. Missandei followed a ray of moonlight into the courtyard, empty now because of the late hour.

Only a few short hours ago the courtyard was packed with curious Naathi. The sudden appearance of Second Lieutenant Wilner Grey on their shores was a spectacle no one wanted to miss.

Occasionally, as Naath travelled through the multiverse, the barrier protecting the island weakened, and objects from other worlds washed onto their shores. A crate of mysterious fruit, a piece of art, several books, a strange machine comprised of metal, with the words Braavosi Air Corps painted in bright red letters. Once, a message in a bottle written by a lonely young girl on the island of Tarth had made its way all the way to Naath’s sandy beaches.

Several years—or was it several centuries?—ago, a giant iceberg had drifted through the barrier; several wights had managed to hitch a ride on the ice. Luckily, no White Walkers had accompanied the wights, and the sickly undead creatures were dispatched easily.

After that encounter, the greenseers had looked into their scrying bowls and found a world covered in ice, a nightmare realm where the Night King had won. The last of the Unsullied warriors, who had accompanied Missandei to Naath, left to fight for that hopeless world.

Until now, no living human being had passed through the barrier.

Missandei had stood next to Wilner Grey as he answered the elder council’s questions. She couldn’t help but notice his stance as he told them of the war between Westeros and Sothoryos. His back perfectly straight, his posture stiff, well trained—even in this timeline, he was a soldier.

Grey had explained that two years ago, when the war started, all of Westeros had believed their army invincible.

The war had not gone as expected; the Sothoryos army had surrounded the Westeros expeditionary force, herding them to the sea.

The only hope for the soldiers stranded on the beaches of Wyvern Bay was the Fifth and Eighth Fleets, if the navy could reach Sothoryos in time.

“I need to return to the fleet,” Grey had pleaded. “Without air support, our soldiers will be slaughtered on the beaches.”

The elders looked to the greenseer, a middle-aged woman standing near the edge of the courtyard. The seer looked into her scrying bowl before pressing her lips together and shaking her head.

“I'm afraid you are already too late,” a kindly older man said, turning sad brown eyes back to Grey. “Our island has already moved on.”

“It’s only been a day,” Grey said in confusion. There should still be time.

The convoy of ships heading toward Wyvern Bay wouldn't reach Sothoryos for two days. Could the stranded army have been overtaken so quickly?

The greenseer looked at Grey and replied, “Only a day has passed on Naath, but almost ten years has gone by on your world. The events of Wyvern Bay have already passed into history.”

The young pilot stood stunned for a moment before shaking his head. “ I don't understand…please, if I could just use your radio and contact the fleet.”

The elder council looked to Missandei, although she was just as confused by Grey's words; radio, radar, aircraft carrier...she could only understand half of what the young man said.

The meeting broke up with more questions than answers, and Grey was escorted back to his quarters.

Now, hours later, sleep had evaded Missandei, her mind buzzing with images of the young fighter pilot. Could he really be Greyworm? Her heart told her he was, returning three thousand years after he had died on the battlefield of Winterfell.

Covering her eyes with her hands, a slight sob escaped her. It couldn’t be him, no matter what her heart told her.

A noise near the scrying bowl near the front of the courtyard startled Missandei from her thoughts.

“Is someone there?” Missandei asked, looking up as she made her way toward the sound.

A foggy wisp of smoke dusted off the stone carved bowl, pooling onto the floor. Missandei stood in wide-eyed amazement as a shape coalesced from the fog.

A man emerged from the mist, silver laced through his brown hair and beard. Familiar eyes fell on Missandei, and even though he had been a young man the last time Missandei had seen him, she knew him, knew it was Brandon Stark, the Three-Eyed-Raven.

“Lord Stark,” Missandei shuddered.

“I felt your island emerge back into the world.” The old man smiled, looking around the courtyard. “A brief flicker in the multiverse, before it disappeared into the mist.”

“The barrier briefly opened,” Missandei answered. “It has happened a number of times over the last three centuries.”

“Indeed it has,” the old man replied. He had felt the island flicker in and out of existence on several occasions; the last time was ten years ago, during Westeros’ brief war with Sothoryos.

“How are you still alive?” Missandei asked. A feeling of dread crawled down her spine. “And why are you here?”

Bran ran his fingers across the scrying bowl, his eyes deep in thought before he turned to Missandei. “The Night King has returned. I need your help”

“What can Naath do?” Missandei shook her head. “We are a peaceful people.”

“Not Naath,” the Three-Eyed Raven replied calmly. “Just you and Greyworm.”

“Then, Wilner Grey really is…?” Missandei shuddered.

“You know he is,” Brandon Stark answered before she could finish. “You felt it in your heart.”

Missandei looked down at her clasped hands as the silence grew between her and the mysterious Three-Eyed-Raven. Finally, she looked up, squaring her shoulders, her gaze growing hard.

“No,” she replied curtly.

“No?” the Three-Eyed-Raven repeated. After three thousand years, he wasn’t often surprised.

“I won’t send him back,” she said, as a tear rolled down her face. “I can’t watch him die again. I can’t… this time you will have to do this without us.”

The Three-Eyed-Raven pressed his lips together. “If the Night King wins, the world will fall into an endless winter.”

“Naath has turned away from this world,” Missandei cried. “Greyworm can stay here, where it is safe.”

“The magic that pulled your island from the world is fading. Someday it will be gone,” Bran replied. “And when your island reemerges for the final time, it will be on a frozen sea.”

“You’ve seen this?” Missandei sneered.

The old man shook his head. “The future has too many variables.”

“Greyworm is whole.” Missandei blushed as she remembered catching a glimpse of the handsome pilot, as the island’s healer checked him for injuries. Tears welled up in her eyes, with a quiet sob, she said, “We have a chance to start again. A chance for a real life.”

The old man looked at her in sympathy. “Second Lieutenant Wilner Grey is a warrior. Even if you manage to keep him out of this war, do you think he will thank you?”

Missandei crossed her arms across her waist and shook her head.

“Greyworm isn’t the only person to return,” the Three-Eyed-Raven continued, after giving the young woman a chance to process. “I need you and Greyworm to find Daenerys and bring her and her dragons to Winterfell.”

“My Queen, she has returned?” Missandei gasped. “Where is she?”

“In Astapor,” the old man replied simply.

Missandei smiled. “Freeing the slaves from the Great Masters?”

“Well, the Great Masters are now corporate CEOs,” Bran replied, “and although slavery is illegal, the population of Dragon Bay still suffers from poverty and oppression.”

Missandei smiled and said with certainty, “My Queen is helping the oppressed…”

“The last time I saw her,” the old man replied with a chuckle, “she was robbing the Astapor State Museum of a priceless bronze statue.”

-o0o-

“Sheriff Tormund is right,” Jon said, stepping up to the chubby crow. “You don’t really look like a thing of nightmares.”

Instead of taking offence, Lieutenant Samwell Tarly laughed, his large stomach shaking under his black uniform. “My father would agree with you.”

“But you hold the rank of Lieutenant?” Jon asked.

Sam nodded, tugging on the small necklace around his neck. His maester’s chain included links for robotics, astrophysics, and Geology, along with medicine and exobiology. The chubby maester even had a Valyrian steel link for the study of magic.

“The marines are always willing to recruit anyone with medical training,” the dark-clad man replied. “When I enlisted in the marines, my father was actually proud, for a few short minutes.”

“How did you end up in the Night’s Watch?” Jon asked curiously.

Samwell shrugged. “I was too young to fight at Wyvern Bay, thank the gods,” he replied, looking over at the Black Wolf, hoping he hadn’t sounded craven. “I was mending old-timers in the VA hospital in Highgarden when Director Tyrell recruited me into the Night’s Watch.”

“And you’re okay with setting criminals loose to do your dirty work?” Jon growled.

Sam Tarly sighed and shook his head. “The realm is in more danger than you can possibly imagine, needs must when the Shadow drives.”

Before Jon could reply, one of the rangers who had accompanied Lieutenant Tarly to Last Hope hurried toward them and quietly handed the large crow a computer tablet. “A message from the Lord Commander.”

Samwell Tarly looked over at Jon and pressed his lips together guiltily before he walked away to read the message from Olenna Tyrell in private.

Jon growled under this breath. He wasn’t sure what bothered him more, that the Night’s Watch recruited criminals or that they lied about it to the realm.

“Are you Crows coming?” The loud bellow of Sheriff Giantsbane put a stop to Jon’s brooding.

The sheriff and four Wildlings armed with shotguns, who he had appointed as deputies, piled into an ATV parked near the general store.

The marine maester and the rangers from the Night’s Watch climbed into their own vehicle, a much newer and higher-tech version of the ATV the Wildlings drove.

Before Jon could decide whether to ride with the spirited Wildlings or the serious rangers, a small two-seat ATV skidded to a stop in front of him.

“Need a ride, handsome?” Ygritte asked, with a wink and a smile.

“Should you really be going?” Jon asked in concern. “It might get dangerous…”

“Why? Because I’m a woman?” Ygritte laughed as if the very idea was a joke.

“Well…yes,” Jon faltered.

“So much for equality,” the young woman growled as Jon climbed into the seat next to her. Ygritte waved her hands at the other Wildlings and the Crows. “I’m the best shot north of the Wall, better than all these assholes.”

As the all-terrain-vehicle sped out of the tiny village, Ygritte turned and smiled at the Black Wolf. Apparently she hadn’t stayed mad for long. “ Don’t worry handsome. If we get into trouble, I’ll protect you. You’re much too pretty to die.”

The trip up the mountain, which had taken the Suicide Squad several days of hiking through the primeval wilderness, took less than three hours.

The gates to the Thenn compound stood open. It wasn’t breached from the outside; the scratch marks on the wooden gate looked like the inhabitants had tried to claw their way out.

The ATVs stopped in the center of the open compound, and the four Wildling deputies jumped down only to mill around nervously, hoping someone would tell them what to do next.

“You found no bodies?” Tarly asked the large sheriff.

Tormund nodded. “Aye, other than all the blood and the damage to the buildings, it looks like they just packed up and left.”

Samwell Tarly motioned his guards to split up and check the perimeter. The two Crows saluted before making their way to the edges of the compound.

“Follow them,” Tormund said, turning to his deputies. “I want to know everything they know.”

-o0o-

Thick blood oozed from the deep gash, a crimson trail following the path of the long curved dothraki knife as the blade sliced through Iggo Zsasz’ scarred flesh. Bloody droplets splattered against the grey metal plate of the cargo plane’s floor.

Brienne shuddered at the grizzly scene and tried to make herself small, huddling near the fuselage of the transport.

“What is he doing?” Brienne asked, failing to hide the tremble in her voice,

Margaery looked up from the seed catalog she was paging through, glancing at the mob hitman. “Oh, that is just his thing. He cuts himself for each of his victims.”

Brienne gasped, “So many?” The Dothraki assassin’s arms and torso were covered in old scars.

Once again Brienne realized she didn't belong in the Suicide Squad. Zsasz was a serial killer. They were all killers: Arya, Poison Ivy, Zsasz, even Sergeant Clegane, although his murders had been sanctioned by the government.

Then there was Jaime. No matter her emerging feelings toward the handsome supervillain, the Kingslayer had left a trail of corpses in his wake.

Brienne only had one death on her conscience. She hadn't really murdered Renly Baratheon; she had only failed to protect him. Nothing is more hateful than failing to protect the one you love.

Iggo Zsasz paused from his self mutilation; the deadly villain pointed the long knife toward Brienne, Arya, and Margaery with a sinister grin.

Brienne tried once again tried to disappear into the metal plates of the cargo plane. Meanwhile, Margaery looked up from her catalog and laughed. 

Poison Ivy had held her own against all the male supervillains in the crime world and the heroes who had tried to capture her over the years; she wasn’t easily intimidated.

Arya shot up, clenching her fist. “Try it freak!” she growled.

“Stand down, Wolf Girl!” Sandor Clegane roared, looking up from the mission report he was trying to type into his computer tablet.

The young assassin glared at the Hound and sat back down to continue her brooding.

The Hound pressed his lips together and growled under his breath. The whole squad had been on edge ever since they had rescued the police commissioner’s daughter from the Joker's goons.

The Hound didn't understand the need of several members of the squad to insert themselves into other people's problems. First, Poison Ivy sticking her nose between the Joker and his girlfriend. Then Brienne Tarth insisting they stop to help the Stark girl and her companion.

The young woman hadn’t said anything, but by the way Sansa Stark had glared at Ivy and Zsasz, both with extensive criminal records in Gotham, she obviously recognized them as escaped criminals. The girl probably went straight to her police commissioner father to report the escape. So much for gratitude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are Love


	21. Remembering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is all Brienne, remembering how she first met Renly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a new laptop, so chapters should be coming along at a more regular pace. Thanks to everyone who patiently waited while I was having computer issues, and thanks to Sea Spirit for the quick turn around editing this chapter.  
> Thank also to Nornblue for suggesting the Oscars be replaced by the Mummer's Award, as it fits better into this world.

Chapter 21  
Remembering

Ten years ago:

Brienne tried to ignore her coach’s icy glare as she readied herself for the routine. Glancing over at Coach Roelle, Brienne wondered if the woman ever smiled. She had never seen her smile, and Brienne had trained with the stern woman since she was only five years old.

Roelle crossed her arms in front of her chest, and the wrinkles creasing the corners of her mouth grew deeper from her frown. A nearly imperceptible nod of her coach’s head let Brienne know Roelle was growing impatient. 

Brienne tugged on her leotard; the uniform had fit perfectly a couple of days ago, but now it was uncomfortably digging into her armpits. Rolling her shoulders Brienne started her run, vaulting onto the uneven bars with practiced skill, hard won from years of training. 

After several powerful swings, Brienne balanced upside down on the top bar, twirling around with precise movements before, arching her back and spinning around the bar, gaining momentum for the jump.

Flying into the air Brienne felt free, twisting gracefully before gravity took effect. Stretching out her long arms, Brienne reached for the top bar. Missing, she hit with enough force to knock her onto the mat. 

The pain in her ankle was intense, but Brienne didn’t cry; Coach Roelle would scold her if she cried out in pain. From her position lying flat on her back, Brienne could see the uneven bars overhead, the top bar still vibrating from the force of the impact. 

A moment later Roelle’s scowling face hovered into view. “Brienne! Are you okay?” 

“I…,” Brienne stuttered as she nodded, sitting up. “I misjudged the position of the bar.”

Roelle pressed her lips together and sneered, “You have been doing that routine since you were nine.”

Brienne nodded, wincing as she rose to her feet and tried to put pressure on her left foot. 

Scowling, Coach Roelle waved Brienne away. “That’s enough for today. Have the maester look at that ankle.”

Roelle shook her head as she watched her star gymnast limp over to the team maester. There goes the world championship and the Valyrian Games. She knew the reason for the mistake; Brienne had grown six inches in the last month alone. The girl had always been tall for her age, towering over the other girls on the team. This latest growth spurt had left Brienne gangly and uncoordinated. This would never do.

Half an hour later Brienne sat outside of Coach Roelle’s office. From the snippets of conversation she could hear through the door, Brienne could tell Roelle was on the phone with her father. 

“Selwyn, I’m afraid there has been another accident,” Roelle purred into the phone. Brienne was always amazed at how the woman’s shrill voice could change so easily. Roelle always sounded pleasant when she talked to parents. 

As stern and cruel as the woman could be, Roelle was the best gymnastics coach in the United Kingdoms and considered the best bet to finally bring home a gold medal for the women’s gymnastics team in the next Valyrian Games. 

The Septa Gymnastic Center only took the best students. Brienne had trained with Coach Roelle for nine years, winning several junior world championships. This was to be her year; at fourteen, Brienne was finally old enough to compete in the Valyrian Games. Gauging by the conversation emerging from the other room, it didn’t sound like that would be happening.

“She’s strong and the best gymnast I’ve ever trained,” Roelle said. “But she is growing so fast, she has become ungainly and it’s affecting her performance.”

Brienne closed her eyes, letting her head fall back against the wall. A single tear rolled down her cheek. 

“I’m afraid Brienne will have to be dropped from the team,” Roelle continued with her fake sweet voice. “Yes, you can pick her up tomorrow.”

Later that evening, looking down at the two duffle bags laid out on her bed, Brienne sighed as she stuffed her shampoo bottle into the second bag. This would be the first summer since she was five that she hadn’t spent training at the center. 

Setting out a pair of blue jeans and a black t-shirt for tomorrow, Brienne wiped her forearm across her face, trying to stop the tears that threatened to pool around her eyes. Turning, she noticed the blue and pink sundress hanging on the bathroom door. Brienne sighed; she had planned on wearing the dress tonight. Now she wasn’t even sure she wanted to go.

 _Was it only yesterday?_ Brienne wondered. She had been so excited. The star of the sitcom Renly’s School Daze was visiting. Brienne, along with most of the other girls at the center, had a huge crush on Renly. On a dare, several of the girls had written to Renly Baratheon, asking him to visit the center.

Brienne pulled the dress over her head, but the garment failed to hide her freckled shoulders and muscular torso. At least it didn’t have sleeves, which would, no doubt, be too short by now. She had ordered the dress a month ago after they received word that Renly Baratheon had accepted their invitation.

The party had already started, with music drifting softly on the breeze as Brienne hurried across the courtyard to the recreation center. 

Opening the glass doors Brienne stepped into a magical world; strands of twinkling white lights hung from the walls and festive balloons tied together with bright green and purple streamers bobbed across the ceiling. Brienne couldn’t help but smile, the glow of the tiny twinkling lights reflecting off her braces. The large room was decorated like the gym from the highest-rated episode of Renly’s School Daze, actually the highest-rated show in television history: “Renly Goes to Prom.” 

Renly Baratheon stood near the punch bowl talking to Roelle and Coach Barnard, the coach of the boy’s team. Roelle, that foul woman, had a fake smile pasted across her face. Turning toward the young star, Roelle appeared to answer a question before pointing a finger at Brienne. 

Brienne felt her face burning with heat as the television star’s blue eyes turned toward her. Quickly covering her mouth with her hand, hiding her braces, Brienne looked down at her feet. When she dared look up again, Renly was still watching her, a smile playing across his perfect lips.

Then the whispers and snickering started. 

“Dropped? About time.”

“Clumsy cow.”

“The fat, ugly oaf.”

Up until a day ago, these girls had all been her friends. Now, after she had been dropped from the team, they had turned on her. Brienne wondered if they had ever truly been her friends, or had they only pretended because she was the star of the team? 

Tears welled up in Brienne’s eyes, and she tried to escape the torment. Suddenly a strong grip wrapped around her wrist; turning, she came face to face with Renly Baratheon. 

“Don’t let them see you cry,” Renly whispered into her ear, pulling her onto the dance floor. “They’re nasty little shits, and nasty little shits aren’t worth crying over.”

Brienne sniffed and blinked away the tears. “They are my friends.”

“I don’t think they are,” Renly smiled down at her. “Sounds to me like they’re jealous.”

When the music stopped, Renly clutched Brienne’s arm in his and led her out onto the balcony.

“Jealous?” Brienne asked. Everyone here was talented; Coach Roelle wouldn’t have accepted them in her program if they weren’t, and the other girls were all so pretty.

“You are the star of the team,” Renly smiled at her. “And I hear the best chance Westeros has for winning gold in the Valyrian Games. I have to tell you I’m quite the fan.”

Brienne’s mouth dropped open. She hadn’t realized he would know who she was. Finally finding her voice, she said, “I’m…not anymore, and I’ve been dropped from the team.”

Renly’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Why?”

Brienne looked down at her feet, wondering how to explain to someone she just met—to someone she had a crush on ever since she was a small child—that because of a growth spurt, she was now too clumsy to compete.

Brienne felt a dusting of fingertips brush her cheek, and she looked up into the face of Renly Baratheon. Dark hair framed his perfect face, and long dark eyelashes bordered the deepest blue eyes she had ever seen. At eighteen he was too young for a real beard; only a slight stubble covered his perfect chin.

“You can tell me,” Renly said softly.

Brienne shuddered and turned away, resting her elbows against the railing of the balcony. “All I’ve ever wanted, ever since I was a little kid, was to compete in the Valyrian Games.”

“What’s stopping you?” 

Standing up to her full height, Brienne looked at the young star. “Have you ever seen a gymnast my size?”

Renly smiled down at the young girl; she was quite tall, only a few inches shorter than himself, and he was six feet tall. 

“Well no,” Renly replied honestly, “but there are other sports.”

“I’ve trained for years,” Brienne said. “Gymnastics is all I know.”

Renly smiled. “You know, I’ve starred on School Daze since I was six. You could say sitcoms are all I know.”

He turned toward the setting sun, sighing deeply before continuing. “School Daze has been canceled.”

Brienne gasped. The show had been on the air for most of her life, following the adventures of its main character, Renly Turner, first through elementary school, then middle school, and finally high school. Most people assumed the show would continue, following Renly to college. 

“What?” Renly laughed at her surprise. “You really can’t have expected it to continue forever. Imagine still playing Renly Turner at fifty? Still learning his life lessons.”

Brienne giggled at the thought, covering her braces with her hand. “What will you do now?”

“The theatre,” Renly replied, turning back to the sun dipping below the horizon. “Maybe movies, but not rom coms. I want real roles, roles with substance, dramas. My gold medal is the Mummer's Award.”

“Are you scared?” Brienne blurted out. Embarrassed by her outburst. she covered her mouth with her hand and continued. “I mean, are you concerned about doing something so different?”

Renly smiled. “Of course I’m scared, but if you never take a chance, never try something new, you will never grow.”

“Growing isn’t really my problem,” Brienne said dryly.

“Indeed,” Renly laughed, taking Brienne’s hand and escorting her back inside. “Now let’s make those little shits even more jealous by dancing the night away.”

-o0o-

Two years ago:

Brienne smiled as she remembered the day she and Renly had met, all those years ago at the Septa Gymnastic Center. They had stayed in touch, writing letters and video chatting. Renly had encouraged her to train with Oliver Goodwyn, the best sword master in the realm. It turned out she had a natural talent for sword fighting.

Whenever he could, when his schedule allowed, Renly made it to her matches. He was her most loyal fan, watching as she rose up the ranks in the melee. He was there, at the Valyrian Games two years ago, in the stands as she won the gold. 

Afterwards, Renly had hired her to be his private secretary, bodyguard, and companion. She scheduled his appointments, watched his back, and kept him company when the world became too much to handle. 

She traveled with him from movie sets to guest appearances, from rehearsals to meet-and-greets with fans and producers. From busy days on set, to chaotic nights in clubs. It was a whirlwind, a wild adventure; it was bearable only because of Renly’s presence. 

The clinking of her heels on the cement floor brought Brienne back to the present, to a long hallway, a secret underground exit, so Renly could avoid the crowds of screaming fans camped out in front of the club. 

Loras and Renly walked in front, whispering, their heads touching every so often, in a world of their own. The rest of Renly’s entourage followed behind Brienne, a wild bunch of party boys. Brienne rolled her eyes; they didn’t really care about Renly. They only cared what Renly could give them. 

“I don’t know why we need her, always hanging around like some lurker,” Loras’ snide voice drew Brienne’s attention back to the two men walking ahead of her. “It’s not like she could actually protect you.”

“She beat you in the melee,” Renly chuckled, laying a hand on Loras’ arm, “Mr. Silver.”

Loras turned to sneer back at Brienne; she had stolen his gold medal. He had trained his entire life for the Valyrian Games. While she was still playing at gymnastics, he was the junior world champion. Because of her, he had come in second in the most important game of his life.

The rest of the country had celebrated the gold and silver medals returning to Westeros after a dry spell of decades; the bronze medal had gone to the Tyroshi champion, Daario Naharis. 

“She’s different from the rest of them,” Renly replied, waving a hand back at his followers. “The rest of my entourage, they all want something from me: money, fame, a chance to break into the industry.” 

Reaching the door, the two men stopped and waited for Brienne to check the entrance, making sure the outside was clear of random fans.

“What does she want?” Loras asked, after Brienne stepped through the door.

“Me,” Renly replied with a shrug, “All Brienne wants is me.”

A moment later, Brienne poked her head through the door and waved them forward. Two black town cars waited outside. Renly, Loras, and Brienne piled into the first car as the rest of the entourage climbed into the second vehicle.

The two vehicles sped out of the parking lot, pulling onto the street and disappearing into traffic. 

Looking out through the darkened window, Brienne kept her eyes on the passing scenery. On the seat across from her, Renly and Loras snuggled and whispered to each other. 

After a few minutes of silence, Brienne felt eyes on her; turning, she saw Renly asleep. Loras’s head was laying on Renly’s shoulder, staring at her, contempt twisting his handsome features. She didn’t need superpowers to read his mind. It was all there, written in his eyes: _you can’t steal this from me._

Renly snorted and woke, looking around in confusion as the car pulled up to the hotel. The doorman rushed forward to open the door.

“Good evening, Mr. Baratheon, Mr. Tyrell, Pleasant night?” the man asked, totally ignoring Brienne as the three of them climbed out of the town car.

Brienne followed Renly and Loras into the elevator and stood silently as the lift carried them up to a suite of rooms on the top floor. 

“Brienne,” Renly paused in front of his door, his smile penetrating her heart, as it always did. “Come to my room first thing in the morning. We’ll have breakfast together and plan the day.”

Brienne nodded, and waited until Renly and Loras were safely inside before turning to her own room across the hall. 

Once inside, Brienne pulled off her spiked high-heeled boots. She hated wearing them; they added another two inches to her already considerable 6’ 3” height. She only wore the boots because Renly liked them. He said they made her look even more majestic. 

Once divested of the high boots and tailored black suit and wearing only a loose-fitting t-shirt, Brienne switched on the television and sank down into one of the plush chairs that decorated the hotel room. With a heavy sigh, Brienne clutched the thick carpet between her toes. 

The theme music of WBC Two National News drew Brienne’s attention to the television, where a beautiful red haired woman smiled into the camera. “Welcome back. I’m Roz Hollister, and this is the news of the realm.”

The redhead looked straight into the camera and continued in a morose voice, “The next images caught on CCTV may be disturbing to sensitive viewers.”

Brienne sighed and searched for the remote control; she wasn’t squeamish, but neither did she wish to see a disturbing image.

“Police have released footage of the notorious supervillain, the Kingslayer, breaking into the offices of Targaryen Industries in King’s Landing earlier this week.”

Brienne paused as the CCTV footage showed a man in a red and gold costume striding confidently down a richly decorated hallway. His long red cloak billowed out behind him, and his right arm glowed bright fluorescent blue. He looked almost like a knight out of stories.

Suddenly, three guards appeared raising their weapons with shaking hands. Even though there was no sound, Brienne could tell by the expression on one of the guard’s faces that he was ordering the Kingslayer to stop.

A wave of blue light swept over the guards, who collapsed to the floor, and the Kingslayer smugly stepped over the twitching bodies of the three men.

“Luckily no one was killed during this heinous attack, and the guards are in stable condition at King’s Hospital,” Roz Hollister narrated.

The scene switched to the interior of an office, tastefully decorated in plush expensive furnishings. A blue glow flashed through the stained glass panel of the door. A moment later, glass and wood splintered outward. The Kingslayer stepped over the wreckage and into the office.

“The target of the Kingslayer’s vile invasion appeared to be Targaryen Industries CEO Petyr Baelish, who was luckily not present at the time of the attack,” Roz Hollister cooed. “Mr. Baelish is currently under police protection.”

The scene switched back to the Kingslayer, as the supervillain scanned the room and for the first time appeared to notice the CCTV camera. A smug smile twitched at his lips as he strode forward.

A face loomed into view in front of the camera: long golden hair fell in waves, framing possibly the most handsome face Brienne had ever seen. Emerald eyes seemed to look directly at her for a fraction of a second before a brilliant blue light fried the camera’s circuits. 

Roz Hollister reappeared, and the close-up of the Kingslayer’s face hovered behind her with the caption, “pure evil,” written in bold letters underneath. 

Brienne didn’t hear what the announcer said next; she had stopped listening, lost in the emerald green eyes of the Kingslayer. She gasped as she felt a fluttering in her stomach. Pressing her hand to her abdomen, Brienne could only stare at the television in confusion. 

Because of her position as Renly’s private secretary, she had met movie stars, models, and athletes, some of the most handsome men in the world. None of them had ever affected Brienne, not in this way. Not even Renly. 

Startled by her body’s strange reaction to the Kingslayer, Brienne turned off the television and climbed into bed, curling up into a tight ball. Closing her eyes, she expected to dream of Renly; she had dreamed of Renly every night for the past eight years.

 _It will always be yours,_ rang through Brienne’s mind as she startled awake. She tried to hold on to the image of green eyes dancing in the corners of her consciousness, but like most dreams, the image faded as the waking world came into focus. 

The shriek of her phone caused Brienne to jump. Sleepily reaching over she noticed the text from Renly. -where are you?-

-BRT- Brienne texted back, before heading to the shower. 

Twenty minutes later, she knocked on Renly’s door.

“Where have you been?” Renly asked, stepping aside so she could enter his room.

“I overslept,” Brienne replied.

“That isn’t like you,” Renly said, real concern evident in his voice. “Are you feeling well?”

“I’m fine,” Brienne nodded, sitting down on the plush sofa and pulling out her computer tablet, ready to get down to business. “You have a meet-and-greet with producers from Dragonstone Pictures at four o’clock.”

Renly sighed. “Their script sucked. I’ll never win a Mummer playing these shit roles.”

Brienne crossed her arms at the wrist, placing them over her crossed knees and looking up at her friend. She knew his frustration; she had felt it herself, when she thought the dream of a gold medal was lost. Renly had helped her through that trying time. Encouraged her to try something new. It was only fair that she help him now.

Renly had chased after the Mummer's Award for so long. He had been nominated twice, once for Jenny Oldstones and again for High Valyria, but the prize had always gone to someone else.

“It’s a high-budget film, lots of special effects,” Brienne replied, her fingers spreading wide. “Kah-blaam, lots of explosions.”

Renly only shrugged his shoulders as he wrapped a tie around his neck.

“I thought you liked science fiction,” Brienne said.

“I do,” Renly replied, fiddling with the tie, “but science fiction films don’t win Mummer's Awards.”

“After this one role, you wouldn’t have to worry about working for awhile,” Brienne said. “You could be picky, wait for the right role.”

Renly sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “Alright, help me with this tie, would you?”

Brienne chuckled and stood up, reaching out and taking hold of Renly’s muscular arms, turning him so he faced the mirror. She was taller than him now, and could easily reach over his shoulders. Brienne wrapped the tie around with practiced precision. “Someday you will have to learn to do this yourself.”

“Why?” Renly purred, “when I will always have you?”

Smiling, Brienne looked into the mirror, into Renly’s face. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a strange shadow skimming across the room.

-o0o-

Present Day:

“What a pretentious ass.” Margaery’s voice wafted over Brienne’s head. 

With a wide yawn, Brienne’s eyes fluttered open and she looked up into Margaery’s face. She had fallen asleep on the couch in their private rec room in Castle Black, her head resting on Margaery’s lap. 

“Welcome back sleepy head,” Margaery cooed down at her. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you,” Brienne answered, sitting up and stretching her long arms above her head.

“There were a lot of them in Essos,” Arya said, leaning her elbows against the back of the couch. “Not so many here.”

“Who?” Brienne asked sleepily, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“It’s a good scam,” Margaery huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest and leaning back against the cushions. “I should have started a religion,” Poison Ivy smiled sinisterly. “A flower cult. I would have made a great high priestess.”

“The Faith of R’hllor,” Arya ignored Poison Ivy, answering Brienne’s question and pointing at the television. “Most are okay; a few are a bit fanatical.”

“For the night is dark and full of terrors,” a stern male voice shouted from the television.

Brienne eyes grew wide as she turned toward the sound of the all-too-familiar voice, just in time to see his face: Stannis Baratheon. Renly’s brother, the head of the R’hllor church in Westeros, and Renly’s murderer. 

The image on the screen faded to an aerial view of the Dragonpit stadium in King’s Landing.

“Hear Stannis Baratheon’s words of light,” an overly excited voice blasted from the television. “Live and in person at the Dragonpit, this weekend only. Tickets available through TicketMaester.”

The scene switched again, showing Stannis standing on a stage above a cheering crowd. The number for TicketMaester scrolled across the bottom of the screen. The enigmatic preacher was flanked by two women in long red robes: a mousy brunette, his wife, Selyse Baratheon, and a stunningly beautiful redhead. 

Brienne’s fists clenched the material on the couch cushions as she stared at the television. She could almost imagine, if she had superpowers, striking him down where he stood.

“Mission!” Sergeant Clegane’s loud bellow interrupted her silent hatred. The large marine stood in the doorframe of the rec room, taking up most of the space.

“Oh yay,” Arya replied dryly, “where to now?”

“King’s Landings,” the Hound replied curtly. “Captain Blackwater and the Kingslayer should be arriving there in a couple of days with the Prime Minister’s daughter. You three are going to supply backup, help them root out the Sand Snakes spy network in the capital.”

Brienne stood up to follow Arya, Poison Ivy, and Sergeant Clegane to the director’s office for the mission briefing. Pausing at the door, Brienne turned back to the television, Stannis had raised his arms in the air in prayer.

“I’m coming for you,” Brienne whispered at the man on the screen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love.


	22. Wyvern Bay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1, Jaime and Bronn  
> 2, Tormund, Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime, Bronn and Darkstar arrive in Kings Landing and the mysterious Wyvern Bay is reveled.  
> The Song UB40 Red Red Wine, it just popped into my head as I was walking to the store and I knew I needed to add it into this fic. As alway I want to thank to Sea Spirit for editing this chapter.

Chapter 22  
Wyvern Bay

For the third time in as many minutes, Bronn changed the channel on the radio, annoying Darkstar, whose knuckles turned white as he clutched the steering wheel.

“Bronn, stop,” Jaime growled from the back seat, only to be ignored.

“You would think there would be more channels, this being the capital and all,” Bronn snorted, spinning the dial again. The sound of static, buzzing and crackling, thundered through the van’s cheap speakers.

“Just what are you looking for?” Darkstar hissed.

“The news,” Bronn replied. “Something to tell us the mood of the city, let us know what we are walking into.”

“And you expect to find real news from corporate-controlled radio stations?” Darkstar grunted.

“You never know,” Bronn chuckled. “Anything is possible.”

Jaime leaned over and looked through the front window of the van. Squinting into the bright glare of the setting sun, he could just make out the skyline of King’s Landing emerging from the haze.

“So what’s the plan? Do we just knock on the front door of the Red Keep and say, ‘Hey, we found this in Dorne, and we were wondering if it’s yours?’” Jaime asked sarcastically, motioning toward Myrcella Baratheon, asleep in the back of the van. “Yeah, they’d shoot us on sight.”

Bronn scoffed.

Darkstar sneered, “You’re the professional assassins. You figure it out.”

“I’ve got it covered,” Bronn said, closing his eyes and burrowing down into his seat. “Although, we’ll need a place to stay tonight.”

“There’s a Sand Snake safe house in Flea Bottom,” Darkstar said. “We can stay there.”

Bronn yawned, feigning disinterest.

An hour later they pulled up to a large dilapidated tenement building in the Flea Bottom district. Jaime carried a sleeping Myrcella in his arms, as he and Bronn followed Darkstar through a warren of dark hallways. The lights that worked flickered intermittently, giving the dark hallways a surreal quality.

The lateness of the hour didn’t stop the few remaining inhabitants of the decrepit tenement from making noise, a lot of noise. The thin walls of the building left nothing to the imagination. The sounds of couples fighting, babies crying, and people fucking filled the passageway.

When they reaching an apartment in the basement of the complex, a middle-aged woman of obvious Dornish descent opened the door. She held a cigarette clutched in her shaking hand.

“I want no trouble,” the woman moaned, as Darkstar stepped past her and into the apartment.

Darkstar said nothing, looking around the messy living space with contempt. His stern silence seemed to intimidate the smoking women.

Turning to Jaime, she pointed down a dark hall and coughed. “She can sleep in the back room.”

Myrcella’s eyes fluttered open as Jaime laid her down on an old mattress laying on the floor of the back room. 

“Father?” she murmured sleepily.

“Shhh, it will be over soon,” Jaime whispered, running his fingers down her cheek, noticing the welts on her neck remained red and swollen.

Jaime waited until Myrcella’s soft, even breathing let him know she was asleep before he left her side. 

He found Bronn waiting in the dark hallway, leaning against the wall.

“You need to be more careful…” Bronn scoffed. “…Dad.”

Jaime’s eyes grew wide. Both he and Myrcella had been careful not to talk openly.

“Super hearing,” Bronn replied, tapping his ear. “We need to talk.”

“What about her?” Jaime asked, looking back to the room where Myrcella slept.

“We won’t be long,” Bronn answered. “She’ll be okay.”

They found a quiet dive bar a block away from the tenement, ordering two mugs of ale before they settled into a booth near the back of the dusty establishment, which offered some privacy.

“I’ve contacted Commander Tyrell,” Bronn said in a hoarse whisper. “We shouldn’t have any problems tomorrow.”

Jaime nodded. “What’s the plan?”

“We have been ordered to take down the Sand Snake resistance cell operating out of the city. They have grown too dangerous,” Bronn said. “So we stay in character for now.”

“And Myrcella?” Jaime asked with concern.

“Tomorrow, we’ll turn her over to her parents at the Tower of the Hand,” Bronn replied. “Collect our reward, like good little mercenaries.”

Deathstroke suddenly went quiet as two drunken patrons staggered close to their table. Picking up his mug, Bronn took a deep drink. When the drunk couple moved away, he set his mug down.

“There will be a reception in Maegor’s Holdfast on Saturday,” Bronn continued, “in celebration of the girl’s safe return.”

“Isn’t this plan putting the King in unnecessary danger?” Jaime whispered.

“Tyrell claims she has that under control,” Bronn replied. “For now, we play along.”

Jaime scoffed. “The Sand Snakes aren’t just going to tell us who they are working with.”

“The ladies are on the way,” Bronn smiled cunningly. “I’m sure that little assassin Arya is quite good at getting people to tell her things.”

Bronn finished off his mug. “For now, pay attention to who comes and goes from the safe house.”

Darkstar was waiting outside the tenement when they returned.

“Where have you two been?” the Dornishman snarled as they approached the ancient tenement.

“Resistance fighting must breed paranoia,” Bronn laughed.

“Don’t test my patience, Deathstroke,” Darkstar sneered, wisps of darkness rising from his fingertips.

Before Darkstar could even blink, Bronn slammed the meta-human against the brick facade of the tenement. 

“Don’t think your powers can protect you,” Deathstroke hissed. “I could kill you before you even knew what happened.”

Tendrils of darkness crawled up Bronn’s arm, wrapping around it like a second skin. Bronn’s left eye twitched violently as he wedged his forearm roughly against Darkstar’s throat, cutting off his air supply.

“Do we have an understanding?” Deathstroke snarled.

Darkstar nodded. When Bronn released his hold, the Dornishman collapsed to the street, gasping for air.

“This isn’t over,” Darkstar growled at their retreating backs.

“What was that?” Jaime asked when they were alone in the room the smoking woman had assigned them. “Does your augmentation protect you from Darkstar’s powers?”

“No,” Bronn replied curtly, not at all in his usual playful tone. Laying down on an old mattress pushed against the far wall, Bronn stared up at the ceiling silently.

“Then how?” Jaime finally asked, realizing his friend wasn’t going to elaborate.

“Darkstar’s powers work on fear,” Bronn replied, “literally scaring his victims to death.”

“I still don’t understand,” Jaime said, sitting down on the second mattress and looking over at Bronn. “How is it you were able to resist?”

“I was at Wyvern Bay,” Bronn said after another long pause. “Nothing is more terrifying than that.”

“Damm,” Jaime gulped.

“Go to sleep, Kingslayer,” Bronn grumbled, rolling onto his side. “Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day.”

-o0o-

Blue. The sky was blue, the kind of blue that was both calming and harsh at the same time. Closing his eyes, Tormund breathed in the smell of salt. More accurately the smell of salt, sand, and fish. The sea.

The roar of the waves crashing against the shore echoed off the high cliff walls west of the sandy beach. There was a different sound as well, a song rising above the crashing of the waves.

“Red, red wine, it’s up to you  
All I can do, I’ve done  
But memories won’t go....”

Tormund opened his eyes: blue sky, a white sandy beach, and row after row of soldiers, over three-hundred thousand, lined up like tombstones. All that remained of the Westeros Expeditionary Force.

It wasn’t in Tormund’s nature, a Wildling’s nature, to stand in straight lines. However, he was a soldier, and a soldier stood, a soldier waited. Waited for evacuation from Wyvern Bay.

Looking around, Tormund found the source of the song, the 53rd battalion out of the Reach, singing about wine, obviously. _Give me a good ale any day,_ Tormund thought to himself. But the melody was pleasant, almost comforting, and oddly prophetic. _How much alcohol will it take for me to forget this day, this week, and this bloody beach?_

“I'd have thought that with time  
Thoughts of you would leave my head  
I was wrong, now I find  
Just one thing makes me forget....”

“Captain, where’s our air cover? Where’s the fleet?” a young man, Private Olly Muldvap asked, his voice trembling.

“Red, red wine, stay close to me  
Don’t let me be alone...”

“Try to stay calm son,” Tormund said, trying to reassure the younger man as he stared straight ahead, eyes searching the waves, searching for the missing fleet.

“But what if those fighter jets return?” Olly shuddered. “We’re sitting ducks out here on the beach.”

The young private was probably no more than eighteen years old. He should be back in Westeros, partying with his friends, getting drunk in his parents’ basement. Instead he was here, in this very special section of the seven hells, reserved for the hopelessly patriotic. 

Tormund hoped a change in subject might take the lad’s mind off their predicament.

“Where are you from son?” Tormund smiled down at the youth. 

“M…m…Mole Town sir,” Private Muldvap shuddered in reply.

“Oh? You’re a southerner then,” Tormund laughed, returning his gaze back to the sea.

He knew that would get a reaction from the young man. Westerosi who lived north of the Neck hated being called southerners, even though they were.

“I grew up looking at the Wall,” Olly said firmly, the tremor gone from his voice.

“The south side of the Wall,” Tormund replied dryly.

The young man was silent for a long while, looking down at his feet, before he spoke again. “I know what you’re doing, sir. You’re trying to distract me.”

“Is it working?” Tormund asked, never taking his eyes off the crashing waves.

“Aye…yes, sir, it is,” the young soldier answered.

“Good.”

After a few minutes of looking out to the sea, Olly spoke again. “I miss the snow…and the cold.”

Tormund nodded. Wyvern Bay was close to the equator, and the tropical sun beat down on them like dragon’s fire.

“If I close my eyes, I can almost feel a cold wind blowing off the Wall,” Olly sighed.

“Aye,” Tormund nodded. He could feel it too, a cold breeze rolling over him. 

As the temperature continued to drop, a chill ran down Tormund’s spine. Realizing it wasn’t a trick of his imagination, Captain Giantsbane turned and looked west, where steep cliffs like fingers rose hundreds of feet into the Sothoryos sky.

A white cloud was rolling off the cliffs, and tendrils of thick snowy fog crept forward, onto the beach, followed by a shrieking that chilled Tormund’s bones.

“Sir? What is that?” Private Muldvap asked, the quake returning to his voice.

“Captain Giantsbane?”

“Captain?”

“Sheriff?”

“Sheriff Giantsbane?”

Tormund looked around, expecting to find sand and a vast sea stretching out before him. Instead he saw an abandoned Wildling village and the Frostfangs rising to the north. A chill ran down his spine, a very familiar chill.

“Sheriff?” Jon Stark asked again.

Tormund looked up, toward the High Frostfangs, as tendrils of unnatural eerie white fog rolled down the side of the mountain.

“We need to leave now!” Tormund bellowed.

“Leave? Why? We just got…” Lieutenant Samwell Tarly of the Night’s Watch asked, before following Tormund’s gaze upwards. “…Oh.”

Tarly pulled out his walkie-talkie and shouted, “Code three! Repeat code three! Pull back now! We’re evacuating!”

The two Night’s Watch rangers didn’t waste time, running toward the ATVs followed by the Wildling deputies.

“What is that?” Jon asked, looking from the Sheriff to the chubby Crow to the icy fog in confusion.

“Wyvern Bay,” Tormund whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are Love


	23. Returning Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1, Missandei and Grey  
> 2, Jaime and Bronn  
> 3, Missandei and Grey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about this chapter being late, the real world keeps getting in the way of updates, but I am finally 3 chapters ahead again.

Chapter 23  
Returning Home

The windswept field was a graveyard of lost things. Bits and pieces of civilizations, some long since gone, had washed up on Naath’s shores over the years.

Missandei stood silently overlooking the vast field, watching as Second Lieutenant Wilner Grey stepped through the wreckage of millennia. The young pilot wove his way amongst broken crates, the remains of ancient galleys, and airplanes, some over a hundred years old. Most of the items scattered across the wide plain were damaged, but not by time, as the passage of time was only an illusion on Naath.

Grey must have heard the islanders talking about the graveyard, the site where the people of Naath had discarded most of the wreckage that washed up on their shores. Since Grey wasn’t a prisoner, he apparently decided to investigate.

“The Seers say as Naath passes through the multiverse, it acts like a syphon,” Missandei said, stepping up beside Grey, “pulling in ships lost at sea.”

“Like the Basilisk Triangle,” Wilner Grey whistled.

“What is a Basilisk Triangle?” Missandei asked.

“A mythical area of the Summer Sea, just west of the Basilisk Islands. For centuries ships and airplanes have disappeared from the region without a trace; it’s just an old superstition.”

“Apparently not,” Missandei replied, waving her hand across the wide field.

Missandei could tell Grey didn’t believe the legend of the Basilisk Triangle, just like he didn’t believe the Naathi’s tale of an island lost in time. Although it was hard to deny the wreckage abandoned on the plain in front of him.

“No people have ever washed up on your shore before me?” Grey asked.

“No living people.” Missandei shivered at the memory of the wights that had washed up on their shore.

“Gods,” Grey gasped suddenly and sprinted toward what looked like a large metal bird.

“What is it?” Missandei asked.

“It’s a Braavosi B5 Titan,” Grey said in awe as he walked around the strange machine. “I didn’t know any still existed, outside of museums. My great grandfather was shot down by one of these in the Great War. He spent two days adrift in the Narrow Sea before he was rescued.”

“I barely understood any of that,” Missandei said, crossing her arms in front of her chest and shaking her head.

“It’s an ancient airplane, ahead of its time really, and highly maneuverable for a bomber,” Grey smiled as he ran his fingers across the side of the strange machine. “She looks almost new, like she could still fly.”

Pulling open a hatch at the side of the large machine, Grey disappeared inside, and Missandei timidly followed. The inside was dark and cramped. Dust drifted on the stale air, glowing on a beam of sunlight streaming in from the window of the ancient bomber’s flight deck.

Three grey metal cylinders were stacked in back of the murky airplane. Curiously Missandei reached toward one.

“I wouldn’t touch that,” Grey said from the pilot’s seat. “Those are 200 pounders. Even after all this time, they could still be live.”

“They’re alive?” Missandei asked in confusion, pulling her hand away from the metal cylinders, least one of them choose to wake up and bite.

Grey chuckled. “No, no, I didn’t mean they are living. They may still explode.”

“Oh, like wildfire?” Missandei said as she sat down in the co-pilot’s seat at the front of the plane.

“Mmm mmm,” Grey replied, as he studied the levers and dials that filled almost every available space of the flight deck.

Reaching forward, Grey turned several nobs; suddenly a deafening roar echoed through the tight space of the cockpit. Missandei screamed and clutched at her seat as the airplane shook violently. A soon as it had started, the shaking and noise stopped with a loud bang.

Smiling, Grey said, “She still works. I might be able to fly her off of the island.”

-o0o-

The Red Keep soared over the horizon as the taxi cab pulled onto King’s Boulevard and slowly made its way up Aegon’s High Hill. In the center of the Red Keep rose the Tower of the Hand, the official residence of the Prime Minister of the United Kingdoms of Westeros.

Surrounded by guards, Prime Minister Robert Baratheon and his wife Cersei Lannister-Baratheon waited in front of the tall tower. 

“Where is the King?” Darkstar sneered in a harsh whisper, looking around as they exited the vehicle. “Where’s Haegon Blackfyre?”

Bronn growled, “Did you really expect us to assassinate the King in front of all these guards?”

“I would gladly die for Dorne—,” Darkstar started.

“I wouldn’t, so shut the fuck up,” Bronn hissed.

“Mother!” Myrcella squealed, putting a stop to further argument. Rushing forward, she fell into her mother’s arms.

Cersei’s eyes traveled from Myrcella to Jaime. If she felt anything, it didn’t show; her face remained emotionless.

“Gentlemen,” Robert Baratheon bellowed, throwing his arms wide in greeting. Stepping forward, the Prime Minister clasped each of their hands in turn. “My wife and I, the whole realm owes you a debt of gratitude.”

“I believe that gratitude came with a reward…” Bronn replied arrogantly.

Jaime wasn’t listening to Bronn or the Prime Minister haggle over the reward; he was watching his sister. He saw the moment she discovered the injuries on Myrcella’s neck, pushing back her daughter’s long golden hair. Cersei inhaled between clenched teeth. 

Two green eyes, which had always matched his own, turned on Jaime. Confusion, hate, rage all stormed within those green eyes.

“What have you done?” Cersei cried, pulling Myrcella into her arms. “Robert, they have disfigured our daughter.”

“Mother no, we were attacked while trying to escape,” Myrcella pleaded, struggling in her mother’s tight embrace.

“I want them arrested,” Cersei screamed.

“Quiet woman,” Robert Baratheon bellowed, before turning to the guards and growling. “Please escort my wife and daughter inside.”

-o0o-

“You wanted to see me, mother?” Missandei said as she stepped into her mother’s chamber.

Her mother, Hippolyta, stepped forward and took her daughter’s hands in hers. “You were so young when the slavers stole you from us.”

“Mother, I—” Missandei gasped, tears running down her face.

“Missandei, if you leave again, the barrier will prevent you from ever returning.”

“My queen, Daenerys, needs me,” Missandei sobbed.

“Your Targaryen queen,” Hippolyta sighed.

Missandei didn’t know what to say. She had told her mother about the War of the Dawn, about the danger the Night King had posed to the world. As they travelled through the multiverse, they had seen worlds where the Night King had conquered.

“Many years ago, before you were born, a ship broke up on the reef. There was only one survivor, a young knight.” Missandei didn’t know why her mother had suddenly changed the subject, but she didn’t interrupt, only nodded politely, as Hippolyta continued, “He was the most handsome man I had ever seen, hair like spun gold and eyes as green as emeralds. I couldn’t help but fall in love with him.”

A sense of foreboding filled Missandei’s heart as she waited for her mother to continue.

“He lived with us for almost a year. He had survived the nightmare on Valyria, evading the greymen, only to succumb to the plague caused by our island’s protectors.”

“Why would he have gone to Valyria?’ Missandei asked. At that time in history, no one visited Valyria. It was home to a Greyscale colony.

“Adventure, exploration,” Hippolyta shrugged, opening a door on the far side of her chamber, which until now had always remained locked, “and to find his family’s lost treasure.”

The room was filled with ancient Valyrian armor and weapons. Missandei’s mother ignored most of these in favor of a Valyrian steel great sword; the hilt was finely carved into the shape of a roaring lion.

“This blade was the reason he travelled to Valyria. He called it Bright Roar, the ancestral weapon of his house.”

“He was from Westeros?” Missandei asked.

Her mother nodded her head, “Before he died, he asked me to return the blade to his family.”

“And you want me to return it to his family in Westeros? If they still exist,” Missandei asked.

“It is already with his family,” Hippolyta shook her head and handed the blade to Missandei, “with his daughter.”

“He was my father?” MIssandei’s eyes grew wide. “Who was he? What was his name?”

“Gerion,” Hippolyta said. “Gerion Lannister.”

“No!” Missandei gasped. Her hands shook, causing her to drop the blade. The sword rattled to the floor, and the sound followed Missandei as she fled from her mother’s chamber.

She didn’t stop running until she had reached her own room, collapsing onto her bed. It couldn’t be true; the Lannisters were the enemies of her queen.

Her queen had never forgiven the Lannisters. Out of necessity, Daenerys had tolerated their presence. Once, Daenerys might have even liked Tyrion Lannister, and Ser Jaime had fought valiantly during the War of the Dawn. 

Neither of the brothers had survived that war. They never knew that after returning to South after the war, Daenerys’ heart would grow cold. They would never know that she had planned on betraying them.

Missandei was present, she had stood silently beside her queen, when Daenery ordered the execution of the last Lannister queen.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Missandei said aloud.

“Yes,” a deep voice drifted to her ears from the dark corners of her room.

The shadow twisted around until the shape of a man appeared out of the mist.

“Even at Winterfell, during the war?” Missandei asked, sitting up and turning toward the voice. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Daenerys trusted you,” the Three-Eyed-Raven replied. “What good would knowing have done?”

Missandei didn’t answer, falling backward onto her bed covering her eyes, wishing the mysterious phantom would disappear.

“Second Lieutenant Grey is leaving the island tonight,” the Three-Eyed-Raven said, “you must accompany him to Astapor, and find Daenerys.”

“Why? So I can watch her fall into lunacy, jealousy and vengeance again?” Missandei cried. “This time, her vengeance directed toward me?”

“Indeed, history is repeating,” the Three-Eyed-Raven nodded. “I have seen to it, after centuries of laying the groundwork for our second chance.”

The old man paused for a minute, choosing his next words carefully.

“But I am only human, and people have the tendency to go off script,” the old man said. “Rhaella Targaryen left her abusive marriage and escaped to Essos.”

“You believe leaving an abusive marriage is going off script?” Missandei sneered.

“Neither Viserys nor Daenerys knew their true father. For a time, they were happy,” the Three-Eyed-Raven continued, ignoring her comment. “Until their mother died, and the children were forced into thievery on the streets of Volantis, never realizing they were heirs to the vast Targaryen fortune.” 

“And Daenerys of this time?’ What is she like?” Missandei didn’t want to ask anything of the old man, but she couldn’t help it; she needed to know.

“Daenerys Stormborn is driven, aggressive even. She has a connection to dragons, which she doesn’t fully understand. She is also a thief and a liar,” the Three-Eyed-Raven answered. “Unlike your queen, she has no ambition to rule. Her only wish is freedom. In many ways she is more grounded, a better person. She need not succumb to madness.”

“You can’t know this?” Missandei whispered.

“No,” the old man replied. “I can’t, but it is a chance we must take.”

Missandei said nothing, rolling over and facing away from the old man, trying to ignore him.

However, he continued to make his annoying presence known. “This looks like you.”

Missandei turned and looked up. The Three-Eyed-Raven was holding a small bronze statue of a woman, encrusted with jewels. The bronze had washed ashore months ago, in a crate filled with artwork. The bronze figure had a broken base, engraved with dragons, and the woman’s arms were outstretched, as if reaching for her lover.

Handing the statue to Missandei, the old man said, “Take this to your queen, she has been searching for it. Giving it to her will gain her trust.”

Her hands shook as she held the bronze figure, and when Missandei looked up the Three-Eyed-Raven had disappeared.

Missandei stuffed the small bronze statue into a leather satchel and hurried out her door. She was surprised the sky had already turned dark; she must have talked with the Three-Eyed-Raven longer than expected.

She made her way to her mother’s chamber. Hippolyta didn’t wake as Missandei crept across her room and slipped into the adjoining chamber, where the treasures her father discovered on Valyria were kept.

As Missandei strapped on a pair of ancient valyrian steel bracers, a blue glow wavered across the ancient runes engraved into the steel. She could feel the call of magic emanating from them. 

Another blue light drew her attention to a lasso woven from cords of Valyrian steel. Each of the threads no thicker than a single strand of hair, she turned the lasso over in her hands. It felt soft, almost like silk. 

Opening a pouch, she found a stack of gold dragon coins, Lannister gold. Missandei stuffed the pouch into her satchel; she might need money when they reached Astapor.

Finally she turned and faced her inheritance, Bright Roar. Strapping the great sword onto her back, she threw on a cloak to hide the weapon before hurrying out of her mother’s chambers.

She could hear the twin engines of the Titan before she reached the field where it had lain dormant for weeks-decades, before Second Lieutenant Wilner Grey arrived to breathe new life into the ancient machine.

“He’s leaving already” Missandei gasped, and ran down the hill toward the airplane. She reached the craft and pulled open the hatch before it began to roll across the field.

Grey turned and looked over his shoulder as she climbed inside. “Missandei, what are you doing here?”

“I need you to take me to Astapor.” Missandei gasped for air as she climbed into the co-pilot’s seat.


	24. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1: Jaime, Cersei  
> Part 2: Bronn, Margeary, Brienne and Arya  
> Part 3: Grey and Missandei

Chapter 24  
Homecoming

The streets of Flea Bottom were only quiet because of the late hour. The flickering glow of the street lamps was the only movement.

Jaime kept to the shadows as he made his way out of the slums of Flea Bottom, passing under the Mud Gate and into the new city, where modern office buildings lined the Street of Business. 

The Kingslayer stopped in front of LannisCorp’s corporate headquarters and disappeared into the shadows. It wasn’t long before a white limousine pulled up in front of the building.

Even with her face hidden by a white fur-lined hooded cloak, Jaime would recognize her anywhere, by her stance and the way she moved, graceful like a cat. He had known she would come. The long cloak billowed around his sister’s slim form as she entered the empty office building.

Slipping from his hiding place, Jaime hurried to the loading docks at the back of the building. After he punched a code into the electronic lock, the service door clicked open. He didn’t worry about the security cameras; he knew his sister would have already disabled them. Making his way to the stairwell, he took the steps two at a time, hurrying up to the tenth floor, where Cersei still kept an office.

She stood next to the large desk which dominated the room, a vision in the moonlight that streamed through the floor to ceiling windows of the lavish office. Slowly lowering her hood, Cersei turned, her long golden hair falling in waves across her shoulders and down her back.

“I knew you would come,” Cersei hummed as she slowly walked forward. “I have missed you brother.”

Reaching up. Cersei brushed Jaime’s face, weaving her fingers into his hair.

“Cersei–”’ Jaime sighed into her golden tresses.

Laying a delicate finger on his lips, Cersei rose up on her toes to cover his mouth with kisses. “Not now brother,” she whispered.

The sound of her soft moans and the smell of her hair was almost too much for him. Jaime felt the urge to take her away to some secluded island, where neither the Night’s Watch nor Robert Baratheon could ever find them.

Jaime looked into her eyes, pleading, “Leave this place, you and the children, and come with me.”

“Are you insane?” Cersei hissed, turning away from him. “And do what? Hide like common criminals, hunted like beasts?”

“I would keep you safe,” Jaime pleaded.

“Like you kept Myrcella safe?” Cersei sneered, and slapped Jaime across the face.

Jaime grabbed her hand. “Don’t lie to me. It is not safety you seek; it’s wealth and power.”

“And what do you seek Jaime?” Cersei sneered. “Vengeance, retribution? Are you really any more honorable than I?”

“You have no idea who I am.” Jaime turned his head, no longer able to look at her, disgusted by the contempt he saw in her face.

Cersei’s emerald eyes grew wide. No matter what Jaime believed, she did know him. She knew his hopes, she knew his heart, she sometimes believed she knew him better than he knew himself.

“Something is different,” Cersei said, reaching up she turned his head so he was forced to look into her eyes.

“Who is she? A shop girl? A waitress?” She spit in Jaime’s face, turning her back to him. “Or just some lower-class whore?”

“Cersei–” Jaime growled.

“No, she would have to be someone who could help you, another meta.” Cersei looked back at him. “To help you take revenge, for all the wrongs you believe have been done to you.”

“You’re wrong Cersei. It’s me who can help her,” Jaime growled. “She is a good person, all alone among murderers and thieves.”

“Get out Jaime,” Cersei hissed. “Return to your whore.”

“Don’t you ever call her that,” Jaime growled.

“Get out,” Cersei shrieked louder. A paper weight flew through the air and crashed into the wall where a moment ago Jaime had just stood.

“Jaime!” He heard her scream after him as he made his way down the hall to the stairwell. “Jaime, come back, I love you. Jaime, we belong together. Come back, Jaime.”

An hour later, Jaime found Bronn waiting for him in front of the Sand Snakes’ safe house, the rundown tenement building in Flea Bottom.

“You met with her,” Bronn said. “Do you know how stupid that was?”

“I do,” Jaime growled as he walked around Bronn and into the tenement.

“Well, I hope you got her out of your system,” Bronn said, following Jaime inside.

“I did,” Jaime said gruffly.

“Good, because the ladies have arrived and we need to stay focused on the mission,” Bronn replied.

-o0o-

“This place is a dump,” Poison Ivy sneered as she exited the bathroom of the room they had rented in the KL Star Motor Lodge. “Why couldn’t we stay in a nice hotel downtown? This place probably has bedbugs.”

“We need to keep a low profile,” Arya said, as she tossed a crumpled piece of paper into the bin.

“Where did our guard dog run off to anyway?” Margaery scoffed. “And why did Tyrell put you in charge?”

“Because this mission required secrecy and cunning,” Arya replied, crumpling another piece of paper into a tight ball. “We’ll work from the shadows, not barge in with killer foliage.”

“You shouldn’t underestimate the power of ‘killer foliage,’” Poison Ivy laughed.

Brienne rolled her eyes. Ever since they had left Castle Black, Poison Ivy had tried to undermine Arya, believing the assassin too young. Brienne couldn’t help but believe the director had made the right choice; Arya was young, but she knew when to remain hidden and when to act. All Margaery knew was chaos and pandemonium.

The door of the motel room rattled, an insistent knocking that interrupted Margaery’s complaints. Brienne peeked out of the window and saw Captain Blackwater standing outside.

Brienne opened the door and looked around. “Where is Jaime…I mean the Kingslayer?”

“That moron left about an hour ago,” Bronn huffed. “He actually thinks I didn’t notice him sneaking out.”

“Where did he go?” Brienne asked. “What is he doing?”

“Something stupid,” Bronn grumbled as he stepped inside the room.

Deathstroke pulled several folders from his satchel and handed each of them a dossier, quickly changing the subject. “From what we have been able to learn, this woman is the head of resistance cell in King’s Landing.”

“Ellaria Sand,” Arya read the name. “When do I kill her?”

“You don’t. She has…connections to the royal family of Dorne,” Bronn replied. “Her death would cause a nationwide scandal.”

“So, she just gets to plot the assassination of the King?” Brienne asked. “With no repercussions?”

“I’m afraid so,” Bronn answered. “The director wants her alive and in the belief she still holds power, Tyrell will insure Ellaria Sand is rendered ineffective.”

“So what is our mission?” Margaery yawned. “Babysitting, making sure this Ellaria Sand doesn’t get into any mischief? How boring.”

Bronn ignored Margaery. “Saturday night there is to be a ball in the Queen’s ballroom, in honor of Myrcella Baratheon’s safe return. The culmination of the evening is the assassination of the king.”

“A ball?” Poison Ivy cooed happily. “And regicide, how wondrous!”

“Do not let the glamour of the event distract you from our mission,” Bronn reminded her. “Once Ellaria Sand realizes she’s been betrayed and we have no intention of assassinating the King, she will send in her own team.”

Pointing to the second page of the dossier and the photographs of three young women, Bronn explained, “Obara, Nymeria, and Tyene Sand, sisters, and the Sand Snakes’ most deadly assassins. Your mission is to tail them. The sisters will most likely be attending the king’s ball.”

“Do we get to kill them at least?” Margaery asked with a sinister grin.

“Use your own judgement,” Bronn smiled down at Margaery. “They are of no real importance. Know I must get back, before i’m missed.”

-o0o-

The ancient airplane rattled—Missandei wondered if it might shake apart—but Second Lieutenant Grey didn’t seem concerned.

“Not a very smooth ride,” Grey chuckled. “My F16 Viserion was much smoother, and faster.”

At first, Missandei had been scared as the ancient aircraft rolled across the grass, heading toward the sea. She was sure they were going to crash into the waves; instead, at the last minute, the Titan bomber lurched forward and rose into the air.

Now, over an hour later, Missandei looked out of the window next to her seat, clouds billowed around them in a swirling mist. She had to wonder if this was what it was like for Daenerys when she soared through the air on Drogon’s back. Her queen had said the experience was exhilarating, but had also complained about the cold and the wind. Missandei was relieved that enclosed inside the metal tube of the Titan, she was at least dry, if not very warm.

“B5 Titan aircraft, be advised you are entering restricted airspace,” a voice crackled from a speaker mounted on the control panel.

Grey clasped a small black device connected to the panel by a long cord, speaking calmly into the device. “This is B5 Titan, Greyworm, requesting emergency landing, UKW Naval Base, Valyria.”

After a long pause the radio cracked and popped alive again. “B5 Titan, please repeat call sign.”

“Greyworm, assigned to air-carrier Bay of Seals, operating out of the Summer Sea,” Grey replied calmly.

Wilner Grey exhaled. He had expected some difficulty approaching the naval base on old Valyria. He hadn’t expected them to be so suspicious; after all he had only been MIA for two days.

Turning, he found Missandei staring at him. “Greyworm?” she whispered softly as a tear ran down her face.

“It’s my call sign. All pilots have one,” Grey smiled at her. “But you knew that. You called me Greyworm when you found me on the beach.”

The radio cracked and popped again as a different voice broke through static. “B5 Titan, repeat call sign.”

Grey rolled his eyes and repeated, “Greyworm, assigned to air-carrier Bay of Seals–”

“The Bay of Seals was decommissioned five years ago,” Grey could hear the sneer in the man’s voice through the crackling speakers, “and Greyworm was shot down over ten years ago. I should know. I was his wingman.”

“Night!” Grey cried into the microphone. “Is that really you? I saw you go down over the Narrow Sea.”

Silence returned. The only sound was the crackle of the speaker and the roar of wind across the ancient aircraft’s fuselage. 

“Greyworm?” the voice returned. “It can’t be. How?”

“It’s good to hear your voice again, Night,” Grey smiled into the microphone. “I’ll explain everything after I land. This old bird is running on fumes.”

The first voice returned. “B5 Titan, a fighter escort will guide you in.”

A roar echoed through the flight deck as two sleek fighter jets seemed to descend from the heavens. Unlike the ancient bomber, which had three propellers on each of its long wings, the jets had no propellers. As if by magic, the bluish-grey fighters gracefully hovered in the air.

Their fighter escort leveled out on either side of the ancient bomber and a third fighter jet bellowed overhead, shaking the Titan in its draft.

“What are they?” Missandei asked, gazing out of the cockpit window at the sleek jets.

“F16 Viserions,” Grey smiled, “come to escort us home.”

If taking off from Naath had been scary, landing was terrifying. Surrounded by the fighter escort, the ancient bomber descended from the night sky, rattling as it touched down on the long runway.

Several guards in blue navy uniforms met Grey and Missandei as they climbed out of the Titan bomber. Distracted by the sights surrounding her, Missandei turned around, the lights and sound, and an overwhelming smell she couldn’t quite place, oil and metal.

The most amazing sight was the sleek Viserion fighters as they descended from the clouds. A gust of wind rose as the first fighter touched down, billowing Missandei’s cloak around her body. Fascinated by the Viserions, Missandei didn’t notice the tall man until he was directly behind them.

“Greyworm?” the voice boomed. “By the gods, it is you!”

“Night!” Grey turned and saw his wingman. The man looked older—no longer the shy young novice pilot Grey remembered. Had he really been gone ten years?

“Missandei,” Grey said cheerfully, “meet my wingman, the infamous Night King.”

Fear welled up in Missandei’s soul as she turned to face the vile specter, her hand reaching for Bright Roar strapped to her back. She stopped only when she looked up into a pair of familiar kind brown eyes. She knew this man.

“Podrick Payne?” she gasped. Even though she hadn’t known Lady Brienne’s companion very well, and the man that stood before her now was at least ten years older than the young squire, she still recognized him as the frightened young lad from the last days of Winterfell.

The tall handsome pilot smiled pleasantly. “Captain Podrick Payne of His Majesty’s Royal Air Corps,” he introduced himself, taking her hand and breathing a kiss onto her fingers. “It is a pleasure to meet you, m’lady.”

“Captain?” Grey asked and warned. Podrick had got his call sign during basic training, not because he was evil, but because of his luck with the ladies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are love


	25. The King’s Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part one: Brienne  
> Part two: Bronn  
> Part three: Tormund and Jon
> 
> Thanks to Sea Spirit for Beta'ing this chapter.

Chapter 25  
The King’s Ball

Brienne ducked into the shadowy gloom of the alley, as the young woman stepped out of the upscale brownstone. Brienne had tailed Obara Sand for three days. She almost feel like she knew the Dornish Assassin. Obara was a night owl and a little impulsive, on most nights the young woman had flickered from club to all night rave, not what Brienne would expect from a hardened assassin. But if meeting Arya Stark had taught her anything, it was that appearances could be deceiving.

The moon shone, a bright silver disk hovering in the sky above the ancient city of King’s landing. The city hummed with excitement. For the upper classes, tonight, Saturday night, was the King’s grand ball in Maegor’s Holdfast. For followers of the faith of R’hllor, the gathering of believers at the Dragonpit, hosted by Stannis Baratheon. In response the Faith of the Seven, led by the High Sparrow was holding a prayer vigil in the Great Sept of Baelor.

Not to be outdone, The Street of Silk, where the most popular night clubs were located, had organized a bar crawl. Brienne hoped that was where Obara Sand was heading; she had grown fond of the young woman over the last few days.

No such luck. Obara Sand wore an expensive long gown—not an outfit someone would wear to a nightclub. Brienne waited a respectable time after Obara hailed a cab before following on a motor-scooter.

As the cab turned onto Kings Boulevard, off in the distance the Dragonpit loomed on the horizon; Brienne’s knuckles turned white as she saw the growing crowd congregating in front of the stadium.

The cab carrying Obara Sand stopped at a red light a few blocks from the stadium. The scooter idled as Brienne waited for the light to change. She looked from the cab to the Dragonpit and back again. When the light finally changed, Brienne didn’t move as the cab carrying Obara Sand pulled away.

It wasn’t difficult to blend into the crowd gathering in front of the Dragonpit. Brienne had learned stealth from Arya Stark. She easily slipping passed the guards and into the bowels of the stadium. She kept to the shadows as employees, servants of R’hllor, and event organizers hurried passed.

Stopping in front of a dressing room, Brienne read the handwritten sign, _Stannis Baratheon,_ attached to the door with clear tape. Laying her head quietly against the door, Brienne listened. She clutched her fist as she recognized Stannis’ voice. He wasn’t alone; the voices of two women arose from inside the room.

“Leave me woman!” Stannis growled. “I must meditate alone.”

Brienne ducked into the shadows as the door opened and two women stepped out: the red-haired high priestess and Stannis’ wife, Selyse.

“Fifteen minutes, my lord,” the redhead turned and told the remaining occupant of the room.

“I’ll be ready,” Stannis replied curtly.

Brienne waited until the women had turned the corner before she emerged from the shadows. Moving toward the door, Brienne quietly turned the door handle and slipped inside.

Stannis sat on a straight back chair, his eyes focused on a single candle burning on a small table.

Brienne took one step into the room. Stannis didn’t move, so she took another. On her third step, the floor squeaked. She froze and waited.

“I asked not to be disturbed.” Stannis calmly turned his head to look at her. “I have seen you before,” he stated. Stannis wasn’t a man who asked questions.

“I was Renly’s friend and his bodyguard,” Brienne replied quietly. “I was there when he was murdered by a shadow with your face.”

Stannis didn’t move, only looked up at her sorrowfully. It would have been easier if he had roared or cursed. Instead he looked remorseful, almost sad.

“You murdered him with blood magic,” Brienne said, but she wanted to scream. It took all of her willpower to keep her voice low.

“I did,” Stannis replied.

“He was your brother,” Brienne choked on the words. “Why?”

“To save him. The world is falling into darkness. Renly was weak, and he wouldn’t survive.” Stannis sighed, his voice hoarse. Looking up at her he said, “You have seen what is coming. I can see it in your eyes.”

“I could have protected him,” Brienne replied.

“You can’t even protect yourself,” Stannis sneered as Brienne drew her sword.

-o0o-

An explosion of color filled the Queen’s Ballroom in Maegor’s Holdfast. Ladies in silk gowns and men in black tuxedos mingled with men and women wearing red military dress uniforms, metals glittering on their chests. Amongst the noble guests, servants in colorful livery wove through the crowd, delivering refreshments.

Three giant chandeliers hung from the high ceiling; the crystals twinkled, throwing prisms of light across the large hall. On a balcony overlooking the hall, an orchestra played as the guests danced and socialized. It was truly a grand affair, the highlight of the social season for the upper classes of the realm.

At the far end of the hall, raised on a dais, King Haegon Blackfyre rested on a golden throne, not as large or grand as the Iron Throne in the great hall of the Red Keep, but still impressive.

Bronn watched Darkstar. Darkstar watched the king. The rest of the Suicide Squad was dispersed throughout Maegor’s Holdfast, keeping a close eye on the sisters. Bronn hadn’t seen Arya or Brienne yet, but he assumed they were around somewhere. Margaery was present, dressed in a flowery green gown, which revealed a little too much of her ivory white skin and attracted more attention than Bronn would have liked.

A pretty young servant handed Darkstar and Bronn each chalice of red wine before disappearing into the crowd. Bronn caught the girl’s eye a few minutes later; she raised a glass toward him and smirked before vanishing again.

Smiling Bronn turned, raised his glass to Darkstar, and said, “Settle your nerves.”

The Dornishman nodded and drained his glass. It wasn’t long before Darkstar’s eyes began to glass over. The chalice shattered on the marble floor.

“A little too much merriment,” Bronn apologized to a matronly lady, as the dark red wine splashed the hem of her long gown.

Bronn seized Darkstar’s arm and led him out onto the balcony.

Darkstar wove drunkenly to the banister, leaning over the side to dry-heave.

“Good riddance asshole,” Bronn sneered as he snapped the man’s neck and pushed him into the bushes below. A moment later he casually strolled back inside, whistling the _Dornishman’s Wife._

Bronn knew it wouldn’t be long before the Sand Snakes noticed Darkstar’s absence. Indeed, Nymeria Sand appeared to have already noted her compatriot’s disappearance. Looking around nervously, the young woman pulled a phone from her jewel-encrusted purse.

Bronn’s super hearing allowed him to eavesdrop on her conversation. “Mother, we’ve been betrayed. I don’t see Darkstar or Tyene–”

“Oh, pardon me,” Margaery cooed pleasantly, as she bumped into the young woman. She brushed her long fingers across Nymeria’s face before strolling away, her lips upturned in a sly smile.

A scream echoed through the hall as Nymeria, clutching her throat, coughed blood onto the white silk gown of a nearby guest.

A cold chill ran down Bronn’s spine. If only Poison Ivy had been more discrete. This was a distraction they couldn’t afford.

“For Dorne!” a voice resonated over the crowd.

The world seemed to slow down as Bronn turned toward the king just in time to see Obara Sand plunge a dagger into Haegon Blackfyre’s neck.

-o0o-

A cold like icy fingers crawled up Jon’s spine. Turning, he saw the thick white fog cascading over the wooden fence of the Thenn compound.

“Move!” Sheriff Giantsbane bellowed, directing his men to the ATVs.

“We can’t leave yet” Jon shouted, grabbing the sheriff’s thick arm.

“Look you southern git,” Tormund growled, shaking his arm free of Jon’s grasp. “You know how to fight fog? You’re welcome to try.”

Fighting fog appeared to be just what the Night’s Watch had in mind. Instead of running away, Lieutenant Tarly and the two rangers were running toward the mysterious mist.

They stopped only when they reached the border of the fog bank. The chubby Lieutenant pulled out a vial and collected a sample before running as fast as his legs could carry him back to his own vehicle.

Several hours later, after they reached the small village of Last Hope, Tormund jumped down from his ATV and wrapped his large hand around Samwell Tarly’s neck.

“Would you mind explaining to me what the hells you were doing?” he growled into the Night’s Watchman’s face.

“Put the Lieutenant down,” one of the rangers ordered, jamming a handgun into Tormund’s temple.

Tormund ignored the gun pointed at his head, squeezing his fingers harder around the Lieutenant’s neck.

“We needed…a sample,” Samwell wheezed, struggling in the large man’s grasp.

Tormund dropped the fat man and hissed, “Get the fuck out of my town, Crow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love


	26. You Can't Escape Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1, Brienne, Jaime, Bronn  
> 2, Varys  
> 3, Arya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been brought to my attention, that the tags might be a bit off. I started writing a Brienne and Jaime fic, but the overwelming DC/GoT universes kind of got away from me. If the last few chapters feel a little forced it was because I knew I needed to get them back together soon or I might lose readers. 
> 
> That being said, I am really enjoying writing the Missandei and Grey subplot, which wasn't in my original outline, but it kind of evolved naturally.
> 
> I admit I am terrible at tagging and If anyone has any suggestions on re-tagging this fic, I'm open to suggestions.
> 
> Thank you and sorry to everyone who was hopping for a Jaime and Brienne only fic, honestly, Truly that is what I set out to write, this fic just has a life of its own.

Chapter 26  
You Can't Escape Fate

The metal of the fuselage buckled from the force of the impact. Bronn pulled his hand free and turned to glare at the rest of the Suicide Squad—Brienne in particular.

“What in the seven hells happened?” Bronn roared.

“Blackwater–” Jaime growled, stepping up beside Brienne and laying a hand on her shoulder.

Brienne turned away from Bronn’s stare, her face turning red. The king was dead and it was her fault. She was so blinded by vengeance, she had allowed Obara Sand to slip through her fingers.

Margaery didn’t seem concerned with Bronn’s anger as she scrolled through the contents of a stolen smartphone; Nymeria Sand’s smartphone to be exact.

“It seems it was a night for assassinations,” Poison Ivy laughed. “Stannis Baratheon was murdered last night at the Dragonpit, right under the noses of his followers.”

“Give me that!” Bronn growled, snatching the phone away from Poison Ivy. “What the fuck is wrong with you people?” All he needed now was Poison Ivy getting in touch with her own followers.

Brienne looked down at her hands resting on her lap, her fingers twisting together nervously. Jaime sat down next to her and laid his hand over hers, calming her fidgeting. Looking up into his eyes, emerald green with specks of gold, she realized he knew what she had done. She could see it written in his eyes. Jaime wrapped his arm around Brienne, his fingers knitting through her hair and pulled her head down to rest on his shoulder. 

“There is going to be hell to pay. Someone is going to have to answer for this,” Bronn grumbled, “and I have a feeling it’s going to be me.” With a heavy huff he turned and stormed off into the cockpit of the transport.

“He’s right,” Brienne sobbed into Jaime’s shoulder. “The king is dead and it’s my fault.”

Jaime sighed, tucking her head under his chin. He knew she had abandoned the mission to take revenge on Stannis Baratheon. Although he couldn’t blame her; his worst crimes had been done in the name of love.

“We were all there,” Jaime whispered into Brienne’s ear. “She got past us all.”

Bronn was right about one thing: there would be hell to pay. Heavily armed Night’s Watch guards were waiting when their plane landed at Castle Black. The team was immediately separated and whisked away into cells.

It was over two weeks before Brienne was hauled before Olenna Tyrell. The small-statured commander of the Night’s Watch sat behind a large desk. Tyrell had always appeared larger then she actually was; however, today she looked especially small.

Laying down her computer tablet, Tyrell turned cold eyes toward Brienne and asked icily, “You murdered Stannis Baratheon?” 

Brienne nodded once. “I did.” There was no reason to deny her crime. She was already in prison for one murder she didn’t commit. She might as well take credit for the one she had.

“Do you realize the trouble you have caused?” Tyrell asked, for the first time showing some real emotion. Standing, the Commander walked over to stand next to Brienne, looking up into her eyes.

Brienne nodded, trying to avoid the cold gaze of the woman before her.

“I don’t believe you do,” Tyrell said coldly, regaining her former stiff composure. “Look, I like you Tarth, and Sergeant Clegane has vouched for you. That is the only reason you are not going back into Castle Black’s general population.”

Brienne realized she was holding her breath. If Tyrell removed her from Task Force X, she would be separated from Arya, Margaery, and Jaime.

Tyrell studied Brienne’s face before shaking her head; she returned to her desk and picked up her tablet. Brienne looked around, wondering if she was dismissed.

“Brienne,” Tyrell said as Brienne finally turned to leave. “I understand why you did it, but next time stay focused on the mission at hand.”

“Yes ma’am,” Brienne replied with a crisp nod.

Exiting the director’s office, Brienne leaned against the wall as tears of relief streamed down her face. Her guard, young man named Satin, stood silently waiting for her to regain her composure.

“You’re actually relieved to still be on the team?” Satin broke his professional silence.

“It’s all I have left,” Brienne replied.

-o0o-

“The assassination of Westerosi King Haegon Blackfyre has sent shockwaves through the world economy. The Braavosi stock market finished at an all-time low, in a volatile session… ” Roz Hollister, the pretty red-haired announcer for WBC two drawled into the camera.

Varys twisted a gold-plated pen through his fingers as he watched the news broadcast. He would have to do something about his own stocks; because of this fiasco, he stood to lose millions. But first, he needed to do something about Task Force X. Tyrell had seriously mishandled the entire situation, putting too much trust in her Suicide Squad.

A light knock on his door alerted Varys to his visitor. Pushing a button on his desk, the door clicked and a balding man with a neatly trimmed white beard entered.

Orchestral music blasted from the television mounted into the wood-paneled wall. Announcing the commercial break was over, Roz Hollister reappeared and smiled sweetly. Varys muted the sound and turned back to his visitor.

“Brigadier Slynt,” the Master of Whispers hummed, “it is good of you to come so quickly. You’ve had the chance to review the files I sent you?”

Brigadier General Janos Slynt nodded; he recognized Director Varys’ question for what it was. Varys didn’t ask, he ordered.

“I have, and let me tell you, this Suicide Squad…I’m sorry, Task Force X is a great idea,” Slynt said. “Having super criminals do the stuff we don’t want the public to know we’re doing. The job gets done and all anybody sees is a bunch of assholes doing what they’d probably be doing anyway.”

“But?” Varys asked, noticing the man had something else to say.

“No offence to Maester Tyrell,” Slynt said smugly, “but she is a mere academic and a woman.”

“She doesn't like being call Maester,” Varys said, “and let me assure you, her gender has never held her back.”

“Nonetheless, the operation should have been handled by the military from the start,” Slynt replied. “I promise you things will change at Castle Black.”

Varys nodded. The man who stood before him was a snake and a hard nose, but he might be what Task Force X needed.

“Director Tyrell will still be involved,” Varys said. “Task Force X is her baby, and she generally understands how the operation works.”

“As long as she understands the chain of command,” Slynt huffed, “and her place in it.”

“Don’t dismiss her out of hand,” Varys warned. “Olenna Tyrell is brilliant. Although, maybe not the leader Task Force X needs. We can’t afford another mistake like the incident in King’s Landing.”

“I can assure you,” Slynt said confidently, “once I take command of Castle Black, there will be no more such mistakes.”

After the brigadier had left, Varys turned back to the television.

Roz Hollister smiled into the camera and cooed, “…Princess Aemma Blackfyre, the only heir of King Haegon Blackfyre, returning from an extended tour of the Summer Island…”

The scene changed, picturing a young woman, barely out of her teens, surrounded by armed guards, boarding a military aircraft.

“…An emergency session of Parliament was called, to discuss the possibility of the princess marrying,” the red-haired announcer said.

“The realm must have an heir, so of course the princess must marry, and to a proper man, a Westorsi noble, not some commoner or foreigner prince.” A man appeared on screen; the words scrolling across the bottom of the screen identified him as Stevron Frey, Parliamentary Member from the Riverlands.

"In the past, Princess Aemma has seen in the company of Karl Drogo, on the famed Dothraki actor’s horse ranch in Essos.” The image on the television changed to a photograph of the princess smiling widely next to a handsome man with a long ponytail. 

“As well as, Naval Captain Podrick Payne.” Roz Hollister’s voice resumed as the image changed to photograph of Captain Payne and the princess leaving a restaurant in Volantis, “Payne, fifteen years the princess’ senior, and Drogo have been deemed inappropriate matches for the future monarch. Captain Payne is currently stationed at the naval base on old Valyria and was unavailable for comment.”

-o0o-

The crisp scent of salty air assaulted Arya’s nose as she crept through the shadows of the ancient shipyard of Oldtown. Climbing to the top of a large crane used for loading and unloading ships, the vantage point gave her a spectacular view of the ancient lighthouse, the seat of House Hightower, one of the few remaining noble houses left in the realm.

Turning her gaze inland, Arya saw the Citadel rising from the mist of the medieval city. Unlike King’s Landing or White Harbor, Oldtown retained much of its ancient architecture and glory.

However, neither the lighthouse nor the university was the reason Arya was in Oldtown. Her destination sat stoically between the dock and the Citadel. The building was new, although it didn’t look it; like all buildings in Oldtown, it was designed to match the ancient and eclectic design of the surrounding architecture.

Scanning the area, Arya could just make out the large frame of a man as he tried to remain hidden in the shadows. If it had been anyone else watching, the man would have remained hidden, but Arya’s keen eyes had spotted the mysterious stranger almost fifteen minutes ago.

The man would be a problem, as his destination appeared to be the same as hers: Targaryen Industries Scientific Research Center. Centrally located between the docks and the Citadel, the building was technically part of the university; however, the research done inside was funded by Targaryen Industries.

“We have company,” Arya said into the night air, as she watched the mysterious stranger disable the security camera near the loading docks and slip inside.

“What do they want?” the voice of Olenna Tyrell buzzed in her ear.

Arya shrugged, even though Tyrell wouldn’t be able to hear her nonverbal language.

“We need those files,” Tyrell insisted, the resolve evident in her voice.

“What do you want done with our visitor?” Arya asked as she made her way across the crane.

“Use your own judgement,” Tyrell’s voice cracked in her ear.

“In other words, kill him,” Arya said, as she crept across the dock, pausing in the shadow cast by the science center. It wasn’t a tall building. Very few of the buildings in Oldtown were more than five stories high.

Surveying the mysterious man’s handiwork, Arya noted the intruder had already, quite expertly, disabled the alarm. At least that saved her the trouble of disabling the security system herself. 

After entering the building, Arya made her way from the loading docks to the security desk; if she wanted to remain unnoticed, the night guards would have to be disabled.

The lights on the computer monitors behind the security desk cast a bright glow across the front atrium. A single guard lay crumpled in his chair, his arms dangling down to the floor and his head resting on the desk in front of him. Arya grabbed the guard’s hair and pulled his head upward, the man snorted, his eyes were rolled back inside his skull. 

Arya could just make out a faint synthetic odor, and she recognized the smell as a powerful drug. The guard would sleep for hours and wake up not remembering a thing.

Turning toward the security monitors, Arya saw that the screens showed empty halls leading toward the data center, where the building’s servers were housed. She almost missed a slight flicker on the screen; it was on a continual loop. Whoever had knocked the guard out had also insured they wouldn’t be recorded by the security camera.

Arya smiled. The mysterious man had tried to keep his actions and identity a secret, hiding in the shadows, knocking out the guard, and looping the security feed so he wouldn’t be seen on camera. However, the large intruder’s actions told Arya more about his identity than if he had left a calling card. He could have easily killed the guard; it was safer, simpler, and it is what Arya would have done.

The stranger wasn’t willing to kill, and neither did he want his face recognized. Unlike the current crop of supervillains, like the Kingslayer or Poison Ivy, who didn’t even try to hide their crimes, flaunting the law and all but posing in front of security cameras, almost like they feared the world might forget their faces.

The mysterious man had gone to great lengths to hide his crime; he had something or someone to protect. His stealth and the easy way he disabled the alarms meant he had some knowledge of security systems, either police or private security.

Arya stayed alert as she slipped into the data center, although she was certain she knew what the intruder was, if not who. She didn’t know his motives or where he was in the building.

The science center’s main server flashed small red and green lights as Arya approached. Taking an electric notepad from her backpack, she plugged into the server and opened the security coder Tyrell had supplied. A floating bar flashed on the screen of the notepad, and Arya had no choice but to wait for the download to complete.

Arya didn’t flinch when she felt rather than heard the door open. She smiled slightly; she had to give the assailant credit—for such a large man, he moved quietly. Suddenly a synthetic odor assailed her senses and a rag was clasped over her nose and mouth.

“Don’t struggle,” a deep male voice growled in her ear. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know,” Arya gasped as she slipped from the large man’s hands. Using his own size against him, she threw her assailant to the ground and held a thin knife to his neck. “Let me assure you, I have no such inhibitions.”

For the first time Arya got a good look at the mysterious man; he was even larger than the Hound, almost a giant. A thick mop of white hair covered his round head. Slight wrinkling around his kind round eyes and forehead were the only signs he wasn’t a young man.

Arya pushed the knife into his thick neck, a line of blood following the path of the blade. Before she could slice the blade deep, ending the intruder’s threat once and for all, the world shifted and a vision appeared before her eyes.

_Three children, laughing as they ran across the open courtyard of an ancient castle. A lumbering giant of a man, the same man who had attacked her, followed as the children dodged and giggled at his playful attempts to catch them._

_“Rickon,” she gasped, as one of the children turned to face her. It was her long-lost little brother. The other boy she didn’t recognize, although somewhere in her soul she knew him. The third child, a girl, Arya knew, because she was a younger version of herself._

She jumped away from the large man; crouching down, she studied him as he struggled to his feet.

“Who are you?” Arya growled like a feral wolf. “And why are you breaking into the Targaryen Science Center?”

The large man rubbed his neck, his blood staining his fingers. He didn’t appear angry over his attempted murder. The same kind smile she had seen in her vision spread across his face. 

“Same as you, I assume, I’m looking for answers.”

“Answers to what?” Arya hissed.

“Something foul is happening,” the large man replied. “An old buddy of mine from the force was working security here, until he disappeared.”

“Who are you?” Arya asked again.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the large man said and reached a beefy palm forward in an attempt to shake her hand. “Willas Hodor, WHPD, Retired.”

Arya backed away suspiciously, ignoring the nagging feeling that not only did she know this man, but he was trustworthy.

“Who are you? And why are you breaking into the Science Center?” Willas Hodor asked, his arm still hanging in the air between them.

“I am No One,” Arya said flatly. When Hodor raised a bushy eyebrow, she continued, “I’m working for the… um, government, investigating strange happenings at Targaryen Industries.”

“I don’t suppose you have identification?” the large man asked.

“No,” Arya replied. “Do you?”

Hodor shook his head and laughed. “We appear to be on the same side, little spy. Why not work together?”

Arya stared up at the large man, considering the proposal for a moment, Willas Hodor did appear to have some skills, and another set of eyes might be helpful if they ran into any trouble. Stepping forward, she clasped his hand.

“I’ll watch the door, while you finish downloading,” the kind old man said. “Don’t want someone else sneaking up on you.”

“You didn’t sneak up on me,” Arya sneered.

“Right…” Hodor laughed good-naturedly and stepped to the door and peeked out into the hall.

After a few minutes, Arya asked, “What did your buddy, the one who disappeared, tell you about this place?”

Hodor looked back at her and sighed. “There is a secret lab in the basement, only a few people have access. Rodrick said he often heard strange inhuman noises late at night. The last time I saw him, he said he was going to investigate.”

“Did you find the lab?” Arya asked, turning around to look at the retired police officer.

“I did,” Hodor replied, “but I wasn’t able get the door open. That is why I came up here. I was hoping I could hack into the security system. I know I don’t look it, but I’m actually quite good with computers.”

“I saw that,” Arya said, a rare compliment. “Where did you learn your skills?”

“On the force. I was a beat cop for most of my career, until I took a bullet to the knee,” the old man answered. “After that I was transferred to forensic investigations and discovered I had a knack for computer systems.” 

The notepad chirped once, letting Arya know the download was complete. Stuffing the notepad back into her backpack, Arya turned and said, “I would like to see this mysterious lab. Maybe there is something I can do about that locked door.” 

Investigating the secret lab wasn’t part of her mission, but Arya had a feeling Tyrell would be interested in what Baelish was up to inside that secret lab.

The door leading to the lab was heavy reinforced steel. Arya pulled out the notepad and plugged it into the security panel. She hoped the code breaker Tyrell supplied to her would work as well on the door as well as it did on the server. The screen of the notepad flickered through several inscriptions before the door clicked.

“There, that should have unlocked all the doors in the building,” Arya said proudly.

“Looks like your spy skills have worked,” Hodor smiled down at her, pushing open the heavy door.

They stepped into a large lab, where thick metal cages lined both sides of the wall. From inside the cages, a ragged groan emerged from the darkness.

“I wouldn’t get so close,” Arya warned as Hodor stepped toward the nearest cage. “I have seen things that can’t be unseen.”

With a loud crash, a body hurled itself against the thick bars; the cell door opened with a loud clang.

“That stupid code opened the cell doors,” Arya hissed between clenched teeth.

Suddenly red lights flashed, on, off…on, off and a computerized voice echoed through the lab, “Cell containment compromised. All personnel evacuate immediately, emergency incineration will commence in twenty…nineteen…”

Hodor and Arya looked at each other before running toward the door, the undead following close behind. They slammed the heavy door shut a second before the swarm of wights reached them.

“The lock isn’t working,” Hodor hissed, leaning his back against the door. He could feel the heavy press of undead bodies pushing on the other side.

“The building is going to explode,” Ayra shouted. “We have to leave, now.”

“We can’t let these things escape into the city,” Hodor said, shaking his head. “Get out of here. I’ll hold the door.”

“No, you’ll be incinerated,” Arya cried. She wasn’t quite sure why it mattered to her if the old cop died, but something told her he was important.

“…fifteen…fourteen…” the countdown continued unabated.

“Go,” Hodar yelled, leaning his entire weight onto the door. Clenching his teeth, he almost seemed to chant, “hold the door, hold the door, Hodor, Hodor.”

Arya had no choice; as she sprinted toward the stairwell, the countdown continued, “…ten…nine…”

Climbing the stairs, “…seven…six…,” She ran past the still-sleeping guard and out onto the street.

The science center exploded in a bloom of fiery petals. The blast rocked the street beneath her feet, causing Arya to stagger. Regaining her footing, she continued to run as bricks and glass rained down from the sky to crash into the street and surrounding buildings.

In the chaos of her hasty escape, Arya failed to notice the shadowy figure condensing out of the debris. The Three-Eyed-Raven watched as his sister reborn ran away from the destruction. 

Turning, he looked back at the inferno that now engulfed the building; he had hoped Hodor would be spared this time.

Oldtown, the building, and his sister faded as the Three-Eyed-Raven closed his eyes. When he reopened them, he was back in his cave far in the north. A tear rolled down his face as he looked across the cavern. Jojen Reed sat across from Leaf, his legs crossed under him as he tried to recreate one of the small creature’s exploding pine cones.

“Jojen,” the Three-Eyed-Raven called to the young man with a trembling voice, motioning Jojen forward.

“Sir?” Jojen asked, sitting down on the ground in front of the old man.

“You must leave this place,” the Three-Eyed-Raven warned hastily. “Return to your father’s home in the Neck.”

“Leave? Why?” Jojen asked in confusion. “Bran still has so much to learn.”

“He has learned all I can teach. He knows more than I did, when I first became the Three-Eyed-Raven,” the old man smiled down at the youth.

“I still don’t understand why–” Jojen started to reply.

“I thought it could be different this time,” the old man sighed, “if you and Hodor could survive, then maybe, Arya and Jon and everyone else who died the first time could survive as well.”

“Why can’t we?” Jojen asked innocently.

“Hodor was killed in Oldtown,” the Three-Eyed-Raven said, a tremble in his voice, “protecting another Stark from the Night King’s evil creations.”


	27. Coups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1) Brienne  
> 2) Robert  
> 3) Missandei
> 
> Thanks to Sea Spirit for the wonderful job of beta'ing.

Chapter 27

Coups

Brienne had spent almost two weeks in solitary confinement. She couldn’t help but feel butterflies in her stomach as a Night’s Watch guard escorted her back to the rec room reserved for Task Force X. As the door opened, Brienne squinted into the bright sun that shined through the large window that opened up to their private training yard.

Margaery sat curled up in a large plush chair paging through a fashion magazine. Meanwhile Jaime had slouched down on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table. Both his eyes were closed, although Brienne could tell he wasn’t asleep; he was faking, probably so Margaery wouldn’t pester him with questions and idle talk.

“Hey, welcome back sweetie,” Margaery hummed happily when she noticed Brienne.

Jaime opened one eye indifferently, only slightly curious about who Margaery was talking to. When he saw Brienne, his eyes shot open, and he jumped to his feet and rushed forward. His sudden movement caused the two guards, who always stood next to the door, to raise their weapons.

Jaime stopped in mid stride, raising his hands into the air. Night’s Watch guards were less twitchy and a lot less cruel than their counterparts in the general population of Castle Black; still, it wasn’t wise to make any sudden movements around men holding semi automatic rifles

Brienne didn’t care, ignoring the two guards as she fell into Jaime’s arms. 

“I thought I would never see you again,” Jaime murmured into her hair.

“Aww, isn’t it romantic,” Yoren, the friendlier of the Night’s Watch guards, coughed, interrupting their reunion.

Jaime looked over Brienne’s shoulder at Yoren. One side of the guard’s mouth turned up in a smirk and he rolled his eyes in a friendly warning.

Ignoring the guard, Jaime grabbed Brienne’s hand and pulled her down with him to the couch.

“Where is everyone?” Brienne asked, looking around the room. The squad appeared to be missing a few members.

“Zsasz got reassigned,” Margaery replied. “I say good riddance to that asshole.”

“And Arya?” Brienne asked.

“On a mission,” Jaime answered.

“And Captain Blackwater still hates us all,” Margaery laughed.

Brienne felt her ears heating up, embarrassed that her revenge had caused Bronn so much trouble. Casting her eyes down, with a heavy sigh, Brienne hoped the captain would eventually forgive her.

“No he doesn’t,” Jaime glared at Poison Ivy. “Deathstroke and the Hound are meeting with the new Lord Commander.”

“There’s a new Commander?” Brienne asked, looking from Margaery to Jaime. “What are they like? What happened to Tyrell?”

Margaery shrugged, and Jaime replied, “He apparently doesn’t consider us important enough to make an appearance.”

“He’s career military,” Yoren replied flatly. “May the Father help us all.”

-o0o-

Robert Baratheon stood in the foyer of the queen’s solar. The Prime Minister shuffled his feet and sighed, fidgeting with the lock on his briefcase. He knew it was a power play, the new queen making him wait, and he couldn’t help but be annoyed. Aemma Blackfyre was a child, no older than his son Joffrey.

Eventually a servant in livery reminiscent of the last century opened the gilded double doors and escorted the Prime Minister into the queen’s solar.

Aemma Blackfyre looked small sitting behind her father’s large weirwood desk. The young queen’s silver hair was cut in an uneven bob, longer on one side and short in the back, with a purple streak that matched her amethyst eyes running down the side of her silvery locks. Robert hid a frown; she would have to change the hair. A queen shouldn’t look like she was heading to an all-night rave on the Street of Silk.

“Prime Minister,” Aemma Blackfyre greeted the Prime Minister and motioned to a chair next to the large desk.

“Your Majesty,” Robert bowed before settling into the comfortable chair.

The queen picked up a piece of paper from the ornate red box sitting on her desk. The reports from Parliament always arrived in a decorative box, a relic from past centuries.

Aemma Blackfyre frowned at the watermarked linen paper before delicately laying it down on her desk. “My father was against this legislation,” she frowned down at the paper. “You think I am so naive?”

Robert Baratheon resisted the urge to roll his eyes; she reminded him more of a petulant child demanding to stay up past her bedtime, than a ruling monarch.

“Your Majesty,” the Prime Minister said, not bothering to hide the condescension in his voice, “you do realize Parliament does not need your approval to pass laws. Although it would be regretful if the public saw the crown and Parliament at odds.”

The queen smiled weakly and pushed the paper toward Baratheon. “I won’t sign away my kingdom.”

Robert sighed heavily. “This is a national emergency. The realm is in debt–”

“The realm is always in debt,” the queen said, rolling her eyes.

“Must I remind you, Westeros is a constitutional monarchy? It is not really your kingdom to lose,” Robert explained patronizingly, pushing the paper back toward the queen. “Returning independent control to the regions will strengthen the crown and save the realm millions of gold dragons each year.”

“This is a return to feudalism,” Aemma Blackfyre said jabbing her finger down onto the paper.

“Hardly. Each region will continue to elect representatives. The wardens from each region will be responsible for their own people, taking the financial burden from the national government and the crown. The rest of the realm is tired of paying for the Riverlands’ debt.”

“I won’t sign–” Aemma started to reply, but was cut off when the Prime Minister suddenly stood up, towering over the small queen.

“You will,” Robert Baratheon growled and walked out.

An hour later Cersei heard her husband return from his meeting with the queen. The loud crash coming from his solar, as he slammed his briefcase down onto his desk, suggested that the meeting hadn’t gone as expected; Robert had failed to bully the queen into signing the legislation to return power to the Great Houses.

She waved her hand at Tommen and Myrcella, who were practicing scales on the piano, silently telling her children to go to their rooms. If Robert was in a foul mood, she didn’t want the children subjected to his temper.

Cersei rapped on the door to Robert’s study and slipped inside, not waiting for a reply.

“I take it the meeting with the queen didn’t go well?” she asked, pouring two glasses of wine and handing one to Robert.

Robert Baratheon shook his head and angrily drained the glass.

“She is a child,” Cersei said, refilling his glass. “You don’t really need her approval. You have the votes in Parliament.”

“Yes,” Robert growled, “but if she doesn’t sign, it will turn into a public relations nightmare.”

“On Sunday the queen is holding a garden party for the wives of Parliament,” Cersei said. “I’ll speak with her.”

“I hope your father is happy,” Robert barked. “Is it really worth it? Just to regain the title of Lord Paramount and Warden of the West?”

“Who better to rule the West?” Cersei cooed. “And after Parliament is dissolved, we will return to the Stormlands and rule like your family did for generations.” 

Robert shook his head and sneered, “As if I care about the Stormlands.”

“Robert, we talked about this,” Cersei replied. “After the Great Houses are returned to power, Westeros will take its rightful place on the world stage and shine once more.”

“I suppose you’re right, as always,” Robert acquiesced with a heavy sigh.

-o0o-

The Naval Base on the shores of old Valyria was an assault on Missandei’s senses. Enlisted men and women, officers and civilian specialists hurried past on urgent business, often shouting obscenities back and forth. The fishy scent of the port, where several large ship were docked, combined with the smell of jet fuel, metal and oily hot tarmac assailed her nose.

The vibrations in the air caused by the F16 Viserions as the fighter jets took off from the airfield was nothing compared to the noise. Missandei had thought the B5 Titan was loud; its engines had popped and gargled like an old man after a rich meal. The Viserions’ engines didn’t growl or grumble; they roared, like the dragon they were named after.

Occasionally different airplanes would arrive at the base. P25 Shadowcats, thin, long-winged spy planes, hummed quietly as they touched down on the tarmac. C20 Wun Wuns were giant aircrafts that grumbled loudly as they touched down carrying cargo and troops to the island.

Missandei liked to watch the planes; she had found a place near the tarmac where she could sit and watch the arrivals, while waiting for Grey to return from yet another meeting. 

It had been a week since she and Second Lieutenant Grey had landed on Valyria, and the admiralty had questioned Grey every day. He had been briefed and debriefed, and subjected to medical and psychological tests; Grey was exhausted as he shuffled to the B5 Titan at the end of each day.

The tarmac glittered as the heat of the sun roasted the inky black surface. Missandei had just sat down in the shade of one of the hangers when a loud explosion echoed over the airfield. Jumping to her feet, Missandei looked east toward the center of the island, where the large volcano, the very one that centuries ago had destroyed the Valyrian civilization, still dominated the horizon.

“It’s a sonic boom,” a man said, stepping up beside her.

Missandei turned and saw yet another face she recognized from the fall of Winterfell.

The man misjudging her reaction stuck his hand out and said, “I’m sorry to startle you Miss. I’m the Chief of Airfield Operations, Chief Gendry Waters.”

“Missandei,” she introduced herself and asked, “What is a sonic boom?”

“That,” Gendry said, pointing up into the sky as a large black plane descended from the clouds. “The Navy’s newest acquisition, a B2 Drogon Stealth Bomber. It broke the sound barrier as it passed overhead.”

The plane was shaped like one giant triangular wing. Its nose lifted gracefully into the air as the back wheels touched down on the field. A gust of wind followed the large plane’s wake as it thundered past the hanger.

“It’s amazing,” _like the dragon it is named after,_ Missandei thought, before asking, “It’s a bomber? Like the Titan?”

Gendry shrugged, “I guess. Your Titan is a fine beast; its design is still used in aircraft today. But it’s to the B2 Drogon like a wood witch’s hut is to the Red Keep.”

They watched the Drogon taxi down the runway. After a few minutes, Gendry cleared his throat.

Missandei turned to look back at the young chief, “Did you need something, chief?”

“Oh, yes,” Gendry said, remembering the reason he had approached her in the first place. “Admiral Greyjoy wished to speak with you.”

“Euron Greyjoy?” Missandei asked. _This can’t be good._

“Victarion Greyjoy,” Gendrey responded, “the admiral of the entire Summer Seas fleet, and the highest ranking officer on Valyria.”

Missandei was escorted to a large conference room; a squinty-faced man in a crisp black suit sat across from Wilner Grey and Podrick Payne, who were already seated next to Admiral Victarion Greyjoy. The admiral appeared dimwitted, but Missandei could tell there was a fierce intellect lurking behind his calm demeanor. 

“You claim to be from the island of Naath?” the squinty-faced man sneered as Missandei sat down. “That island is nothing more than a legend, the stuff of myth and superstition.”

“Mr. Baelish, I found it hard to believe at first,” Grey replied. “But I assure you, I was on the island for only two days, and when I returned, ten years had passed.”

“You can’t really expect us to believe an island lost in time? Bah!” Petyr Baelish replied, pretending insult. “Admiral, you can’t possibly–”

Victarion Greyjoy raised his hand, cutting the man off. “When I was Captain of the Bay of Seals, Second Lieutenant Grey was one of my best pilots. I trust his word.”

Baelish huffed. “It is obvious to anyone with an ounce of intellect that your pilot, AWOL for ten years, has been living the good life on some tropical paradise, until the money the Sothoryos government paid him ran out.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Missandei stared at the man. She never met Petyr Baelish before. Lady Sansa had the man executed before Missandei had arrived at Winterfell. Although, she had heard of him, and it appeared this reincarnation was just as much a snake as the original.

“Petyr Baelish, CEO of Targaryen Industries. My firm supplies consultation services to the navy,” Baelish leaned back smugly, a sinister grin on his face.

“Although he is only a civilian advisor,” the admiral continued, motioning to a guard to escort Baelish outside, “and does not dictate navy protocol.”

“You dare?” Baelish growled, standing up and leaving in a huff.

The admiral turn back to Missandei after Baelish had left. “Now Miss…?”

“Lannister,” Missandei blurted without thinking.

“Really?” the admiral asked. “Any relation to Tywin Lannister of LannisCorp?”

“Distantly,” Missandei replied dryly.

“Well Miss Lannister,” Admiral Greyjoy continued, “if you would, tell me about Naath.”

Missandei was a little concerned. Although he obviously wasn’t Euron Greyjoy, there was a strong family resemblance to the man who had betrayed Westeros three centuries ago.

Noticing her reluctance, Grey tapped her hand and nodded his head, silently letting her know she could trust the admiral. 

Missandei turned back to Victarion Greyjoy and sighed, before telling a story that lasted three millennia.

The admiral listened intently, never once dismissing her statement. He listened when she recounted her life before and during the Long Night.

When she told the admiral how Euron Greyjoy had betrayed the North by ferrying the Golden Company to Westeros, Victarion Greyjoy only nodded. “My family has had a long and not always honorable history with the sea.”

Finally she told the admiral how Naath, using ancient magic, had fled into the multiverse to escape the slavers attacking the island. 

When she had finished her story, Admiral Greyjoy nodded again and scribbled some notes onto a tablet before asking Captain Payne to escort Missandei to the lobby while he talked with Second Lieutenant Grey alone.

Petyr Baelish was lurking outside of the conference room, trying to intimidate a poor ensign. When he saw Missandei and Captain Payne exit, he sneered and skulked down the hall.

While she waited for Grey, Missandei studied the large world map hanging in the lobby. She recognized some of the place names, although the continents looked different; there was even a large continent on the far side of the world, which she had never seen before.

Reaching up she traced what should have been the shoreline of Westeros and Essos.

“Shorelines changed when the ice fields in the far north melted after the ice age ended,” Podrick said. “It probably looks different.”

Missandei nodded, turning to Podrick. “You believe me then?”

Podrick smiled down at her. “I trust Greyworm, and Greyworm trusts you.”

“What about the admiral?” Missandei asked. “Do you trust him?”

“Admiral Greyjoy is a great man,” Podrick said with a nod, “and a war hero. Ten years ago he single-handedly saved the lives of thousands of men stranded at Wyvern Bay.”

A half an hour later Wilner Grey emerged from conference room; he looked distraught as he hurried to the door. Missandei wanted to go to him, but Podrick laid his hand on her arm and shook his head, “Let me talk to him.”

As she watched Podrick follow Grey outside, the gruff voice of Admiral Greyjoy rose from behind her, “Second Lieutenant Grey was officially given an honorable discharge, after being stranded on an uncharted island in the Summer Sea for ten years.”

“You didn’t believe him then?” Missandei turned to the admiral.

Victarion Greyjoy smiled at her and motioned toward the map. “Have you heard about Wyvern Bay?”

Missandei nodded, “Captain Payne told me you single-handedly saved thousands of lives.”

“Not quite single-handedly,” the admiral smiled. “At the time I had command of the 10th fleet. We were two weeks out from Wyvern Bay, the closest fleet to Sothoryos.”

Missandei found it hard to believe that any ship could travel so far in just two weeks, but like many things in this new world, the unbelievable was very real, almost magical. However she knew it wasn’t magic, it was something else, something harder, colder. Grey called it technology.

“I sent Greyworm’s squadron ahead. We had reports the Sothoryos Air Guard was strafing the beaches.”

“Greyworn was shot down before he reached Sothoryos,” Missandei said.

“The whole squadron was shot down,” Admiral Greyjoy shook his head sadly. “Sothoryos knew they were coming and sent an overwhelming force to intercept them. Only a few of my pilots survived, Captain Payne among them.”

“How did you do it then?” Missandei asked. “How did you save the men stranded on Wyvern Bay?”

“Officially?” the admiral laughed, “I pushed the fleet to their very limit, reaching Wyvern Bay in just two days.”

“And unofficially?” Missandei asked, sensing there was more to this story than what was in the official record.

Victarion Greyjoy laughed. “As I said, my family has a long history with the sea. Over the centuries, we have learned many of its secrets.”

Reaching up, the admiral tapped on the map to an area just north of Naath. “There is an area, near your island I believe, where time does unusual things.”

“How so?” Missandei asked curiously.

“Most captains avoid the area, as it is near the Basilisk Triangle and always covered in a thick fog. But if you enter the passage, at just the right place and time,” Greyjoy said, pointing to a spot on the map north of Naath, “when you emerge, time outside of the area appears to have stood still.”

“No one in your fleet noticed that time difference?” Missandei asked.

“They did,” Greyjoy said, “but it is easier to believe I pushed the fleet hard then to believe in a magical time tunnel.”

“You didn’t try to set the record straight?” Missandei asked in surprise; Grey had said the man was honest.

Admiral Greyjoy chuckled. “Then I would be Crazy Captain Vicky, and not Admiral Victarion Greyjoy, the valiant hero of Wyvern Bay. Most people only believe what they can understand.”

“So you do believe Greyworm,” Missandei said.

Victarion Greyjoy smiled and nodded, “For his reputation and mine, that information must remain a secret.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love


	28. Wardens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1, Brienne and Jaime  
> 2, Bran and Missandei  
> 3, Brienne and Jaime  
> 4, Greyworm and Podrick
> 
> Thanks to Sea Spirit for beta reading this chapter, a great job catching all my typos, like always.

Chapter 28

Wardens 

“This Sunday, national emergency!” Olyvar Todd, the host of Sunday Morning Newsroom, read into the camera. “Prime Minister Baratheon made that declaration while explaining why Parliament passed legislation to restore the title of Warden and Lord Paramount and the political power that follows the title to influential families in each region earlier this week.”

“What’s going on?” Margaery asked, looking up from her magazine.

“Parliament has disbanded,” Brienne replied, her eyes glued to the television set in Task Force X’s private rec room in Castle Black.

Olyvar Todd’s image faded and was replaced by a video clip of the Prime Minister standing in front of the Tower of the Hand, surrounded by the new Wardens from each region.

“Isn’t that your dad?” Bronn asked, elbowing Jaime in his side and pointing at the television. Tywin Lannister stood, his arms crossed and his face set in a stern frown, behind Robert Baratheon.

Jaime only sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

“So, you’re a Lord now?” Bronn snickered.

Sensing Jaime’s discomfort, Brienne quickly changed the subject, pointing to the pale man standing between Tywin Lannister and a Dornish prince. “Isn’t that Roose Bolton? How did the Penguin get to be a Warden?”

“He must have some dirt on Baratheon,” Margaery replied. “What I want to know is, who is that old fossil?”

“Walder Frey,” Jaime replied. “He used to work with my father, before LannisCorp closed its factories in the River–”

“Shut up, all of you,” Arya hissed. “I’m trying to listen.”

Bronn raised his hands in mock surrender and turned back to the television.

“We’re talking about assassinations, the kidnapping of innocent civilians, about terrorists traveling freely throughout the realm.” Robert Baratheon’s image appeared on the screen, hollering into a crowd of cheering sycophants.

The images faded again, back to Olyvar Todd seated in the center of a panel of politicians and experts.

“This declaration of an emergency is completely unnecessary, a blatant power grab,” Mance Rayder, the representative from the Far North, growled into the camera.

“There’s no rational reason to do this,” Maege Mormont, a firm-jawed politician from Bear Island continued.

“Baratheon’s only sin is that he’s bringing order and the rule of law back to Westeros,” Stevron Frey, the representative from the Riverlands, interrupted the Northern delegates.

“Is democracy on trial?” Olyvar Todd asked, looking into the camera. “These are the questions we will explore this morning on Newsroom.”

“All because of the assassination of one man?” Jaime asked, motioning toward the television. “I’ve killed a lot of people, countless actually, and the world didn’t fall apart.”

Brienne drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “How could the government have fallen so fast?”

“Fast is the only way to bring a democracy down,” Arya replied. “Manufacture a national emergency, spread discord through the population, and take the government down before the people realize what is happening. The League of Assassins did it all the time.”

“What about us?” asked Satin. The young guard and his partner had left their post next to the door and now stood behind the couch, watching the television.

“The Night’s Watch charter predates the United Kingdoms by at least two thousand years,” a voice from the door startled everyone. Samwell Tarly and Sergeant Clegane stood in the door, and Samwell continued in a calm voice, “We won’t be going anywhere.”

“Yes sir,” Satin stammered, standing up straight before the two guards hurried back to their post next to the door.

“Colonel Tarly,” Bronn said, turning to look at the chubby Maester. “You don’t usually come down here. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Mission!” The Hound barked. He didn’t look pleased. “All of you suit up.”

-o0o-

Missandei made her way across the airfield. Chief Gendry had told her, about an hour ago, he had seen Podrick and Grey heading toward the Titan with a case of beer.

A dust devil appeared in her path, twisting aggressively. Missandei sighed and said aloud, “What do you want now, Lord Stark?”

“Missandei,” a hollow voice arose from the midst of the twirling dust as it condensed into the shape of the Three-Eyed-Raven. “You are in danger. You must leave–”

Dust waves rippled across the old man’s form; he appeared to break apart into a cloud of dust, only to coalesce again.

“Why? What has happened? Is my queen Daenerys okay?” Missandei asked in concern as the Three-Eyed-Raven solidified.

Looking around nervously, the old man said, “Do not trust–”

Suddenly the Three-Eyed-Raven disappeared, a cloud of dust collapsing to the ground.

“Don’t trust who?” Missandei asked. “Don’t trust who? Lord Stark?”

A small hand clamped around the Three-Eyed-Raven’s arm. The old man’s eyes, a glossy white, faded to a deep brown as he looked down at the small creature before him.

“They’re here,” Leaf said, overly calm for the situation at hand.

“Bran and the Reeds?” the old man asked.

“Away,” Leif replied.

“Good. Are you ready for this again?” the Three-Eyed-Raven inquired as more Children of the Forest gathered around him.

“What is it that you humans are saying now?” Leaf replied, trying to smile for the old man’s benefit. “Third time's a charm.”

Bran signed sadly. Leaf had gone through this twice before; he had to wonder how many times the Children of the Forest would have to repeat this scenario, forever paying for the crime of creating the Night King thousands of years ago.

The roots that had grown throughout Brandon Stark’s limbs over the last three centuries creaked as he rose to his feet. It was true, time did heal all wounds, and The Three-Eyed-Raven had regained the use of his legs a century ago, although he had never used his limbs in the real world.

The scraping footsteps of the dead broadcast their arrival before the wights came into view, staggering loosely into the dim light of the cavern.

Explosions knocked the undead backwards as fiery pinecones erupted on the advancing horde. The undead were undeterred; more and more lurched into view, stepping over the shattered bodies of their companions.

The Three-Eyed-Raven raised his arms, gesturing toward the undead. Several of the creatures burst into flames. It didn’t appear to matter; the wights kept coming, flooding the cavern and circling around the Three-Eyed-Raven and the Children of the Forest.

It wasn’t until the fiery projectiles were gone that the White Walker stepped around the fallen wights and into the cavern.

Wisps of magic streamed from Leaf’s fingers as she rushed forward. The White Walker indifferently swatted at the small forest spirit, sending Leaf flying through the air to collapse against the cavern wall.

“Leave her alone!” Jojen Reed’s voice echoed through the cavern as the young man ran to the fallen forest spirit.

“No, get out of here,” the Three-Eyed-Raven hissed.

The young man sobbed as he dropped to his knees next to Leaf, gathering her into his arms.

The White Walker turned, noticing Jojen for the first time, its sinister blue eyes falling on the young man and the forest spirit. 

The Three-Eyed-Raven watched in horror as the tall specter, moving with unnatural speed, rose up behind Jojen and lodged an icy blade through the young man’s heart.

“I failed,” Branson Stark sobbed, as the White Walker stalked toward him. “I failed them all again.”

“Lord Stark?” Missandei asked again, looking around the airfield.

Missandei knew in her heart the Three-Eyed-Raven was dead. The old man had annoyed her, with his constant interruptions and unreasonable demands. He was, however, her last link to a past no one else alive remembered.

-o0o-

It was certainly unusual, Colonel Tarly leading the team through a dark and ancient passageway.

“Where are we?” Brienne murmured softly.

“The walls are solid ice,” Jaime whispered, reaching out and running his fingers over the icy surface. “I think we are under the Wall.”

Something was definitely odd in the Night’s Watch. Usually Task Force X was escorted to Castle Black’s main airfield, surrounded by guards armed with semi-automatic machine guns.

Only Yoren and Satin accompanied them now, and the two guards seemed more concerned with looking behind them, making sure they were not being followed, than watching the prisoners.

Jaime reached out and took Brienne’s hand in his, drawing her close and whispering in her ear, “Something isn’t right.”

Brienne could only nod nervously; she could feel the tension in the air around them.

At last a faint light glimmered in the distance. Reaching a rusted metal gate, Sam Tarly turned an ancient crank set in an alcove. A loud screech of metal scraping against rusted metal echoed down the long corridor.

“Quietly,” Yoren hissed between clenched teeth.

After checking to make sure the coast was clear, Yoren led the team into a grove of trees that grew near the base of the wall. Under the thick cover, several off-road motorcycles were hidden under the brush.

“Can someone tell me what is going on?” Jaime hissed.

Sam held up his hand as he doubled over, panting heavily, begging the team to wait as he caught his breath. Finally the chubby Maester stood up and pulled a tablet from his pack, motioning the team to gather around.

Olenna Tyrell appeared on the screen, a heavy frown etched across her stern face. “By now you have heard of the so-called national emergency.” The former director came straight to the point. “Protests have broken out all over the realm, especially in the Far North. The government and the new small council wants the Night’s Watch to stop these protests, by any means possible.”

“You can’t,” Brienne shook her head. “People have a right to protest.”

Tyrell raised her hand. “I agree, Miss Tarth. You must protect the protesters from the team General Slynt is sending.”

“You mean you’re sending us, the Night’s Watch, to stop the Night’s Watch?” Jaime scoffed.

“Yes,” Tyrell answered, “from Slynt’s team of handpicked thugs, including your old teammate Victor Zsasz and members of the Bloody Mummers.”

“If we are discovered,” Arya said, “what’s stopping Commander Slynt from detonating the nano-bombs in our necks?”

“He has no control over you,” Olenna Tyrell answered. “Your nano-bombs have been permanently disabled.”

“Really?” Jaime said, a sly smile crossing his lips. “So you have no control over us either.”

Tyrell only nodded. “What you do now is your choice, Kingslayer. But if you choose to run, you will be abandoning the citizens of Craster’s Keep to the mercies of the Bloody Mummers.”

Margaery shrugged, turning toward the motorcycles. “Well, I know my choice.”

“Margaery,” Brienne said, grabbing her arm and turning her around, “you can’t.”

“I’m sorry, Brienne,” Margaery sighed, looking at Jaime for support. “We are the bad guys, remember?”

“We don’t owe Tyrell anything,” Jaime said, nodding his head in agreement with Margaery.

“These are innocent people in Craster’s, children. You can’t abandon them to the Bloody Mummers,” Brienne insisted. “I know you’ve killed in the past, but neither of you have killed innocent people.”

“I’m sorry, but they are not our concern,” Jaime said, although there was little conviction in his voice.

“I know what you think you are,” Brienne said, turning to look directly into Jaime’s eyes. Reaching up she ran her fingers across his cheek, tracing the line of his chin with her thumb. “I also know you are wrong. You are a good person, Jaime.”

Jaime clasped her hand in his, their eyes communicating silently. Finally Jaime pulled Brienne into an embrace and whispered into her ear, “You make me better.”

Tyrell turned to the remaining members of the Night’s Watch: the Hound, Deathstroke, and the two guards. “The choice is also yours to make. I won’t order you to betray your vows. You can turn around now and go back to Castle Black, no questions asked.”

“Slynt isn’t someone I want to follow,” Bronn shrugged, “and the Night’s Watch was getting old anyway.”

Yoren and Satin both nodded. “Slynt is a disaster.”

The Hound seemed to consider the question for only a moment before growling, “Fuck Slynt, fuck the Night’s Watch.”

“Good, we are in agreement,” Tyrell nodded.

“I can’t believe this.” Margaery threw her arms up in frustration. “If…and I mean if we do this, what’s stopping Slynt and the Night’s Watch from hunting us down?”

“I have thought of that,” Tyrell continued. “After you have secured Craster’s, go to White Harbor. A friend of mine, from my days at the Citadel, has agreed to hide you until I can restore order at Castle Black.”

“And we will go back to being prisoners?” Jaime said.

Tyrell sighed. “Save Craster’s, help restore the Night’s Watch, and I will give you all full pardons.”

-o0o-

Podrick handed Grey a can of beer, settling into the co-pilot's seat and propping his feet on the control panel of the B5 Titan.

“It could have been worse,” Pod said, raising the can toward his friend. “An honorable discharge isn’t such a bad thing.”

“I had my life planned… every detail,” Grey responded with a heavy sigh. “A few years flying for the Navy, and then applying to the Westerosi Space Agency.”

“Astronaut training?” Podrick asked.

Greyworm nodded. “That particular dream is over.”

Podrick shook his head, running his hands through his hair. “If it’s any consolation, while you were…away, the government cut the WSA’s budget. The shuttle program was discontinued.”

“So just like that,” Grey growled unhappily, “we’ve given up on space exploration?”

“There are other things you can do,” Podrick motioned his hand across the bay of the Titan, “take out some of this outdated equipment, and this old girl has a lot of cargo space.”

“You think I should haul freight?” Greyworm asked.

“Why not?” Pod replied.

“Well,” Grey seemed to consider for a moment, “Missandei has been wanting to go to Astapor.”

“That’s perfect.” Podrick stood up suddenly. “LannisCorp moved most of its manufacturing to Dragon Bay. We could pick up a shipment there–”

“Excuse me?” Grey asked, eyeing Podrick suspiciously. “We?”

“Captain Vicky…the admiral believes, because of the scandal,” Podrick replied, “I should resign my commission. Take the spotlight off the Navy.”

“What scandal?” Greyworm asked. “What have you done now?”

Podrick looked down at his beer and said timidly, “Remember Princess Aemma?”

“Yes…” Grey answered, not sure he really wanted to hear the answer.

“Well, she and I were kind of dating,” Podrick replied. “The news media found out and–”

“Gross dude,” Grey coughed, “What is she? Like twelve? Remember we did that flyover for her twelfth birthday, over the Red Keep?”

“That was ten years ago,” Podrick replied. “She’s twenty-two.”

“Oh right, I forgot,” Greyworm chuckled. “Your Majesty.”

“Stop it,” Podrick jokingly punched Grey in the arm. “That’s not who I am.”

Standing up, Captain Payne strolled to the back of the Titan, inspecting the antique instruments. The airplane was in remarkably good condition for being over one hundred years old. Although, on Naath, where the airplane had crash landed, time was only an illusion. The Titan looked new because it was new.

“We could do this,” Podrick said, turning back to Grey. “Use our pensions to update the old girl’s system.”

“Not a bad idea,” Grey said, raising his can in a mock toast to the Titan.

“What’s not a bad idea?” Missandei asked, climbing into the Titan.

“Missandei!” Greyworm smiled, “Pack your bags, we’re going to Astapor.”

“I only have the one bag,” Missandei said, motioning to her leather satchel. “It’s right here, still packed.”

Grey and Podrick burst out laughing. Confused, Missandei couldn’t understand why they found her statement funny.

**Author's Note:**

> A try at a modern AU,  
> Comments are love.


End file.
